The next blackout came two nights later.

This time, there was a knock at her door.

When she opened it, Elias stood with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. His eyes flickered in the dim red of the emergency lights.

“Thought you might want company.”

Against her better judgment, she let him in.

They sat cross-legged on her floor, sipping whiskey by candlelight. He looked different in the flicker—less sharp, less dangerous. Almost human.

“You’re hard to read,” Lena said finally.

“Good,” Elias replied, leaning back against the wall. “Being readable is a liability.”

“Liability how?”

“In this world,” he said, swirling his glass, “people don’t want to know you. They want to know how to use you.”

“That’s bleak.”

“Realistic.” His eyes caught hers. “You don’t look like someone who gets used easily.”

“You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

“Maybe not. But I know what broken looks like. You’re not broken. Not yet.”

The words cut sharp, intimate. Her breath caught.

She asked quietly, “So what’s your story, Elias? Why only leave at night? Why do the cameras avoid your door?”

He smirked, dangerous. “Maybe I’m a vampire.”

“You don’t sparkle.”

“Good. I’d hate to disappoint.”

When his hand brushed hers, she didn’t pull away.