The moment passed—and something broke.

Her body trembled beneath him. Her breath tore free in a sound that wasn’t pleasure anymore. It was thin. Fragile. As if something inside her had come loose.

That was when the mist appeared.

At first, it was barely visible. A pale breath slipping from her lips. From her skin. From the places where he still touched her.

It wasn’t warm.

The mist rose slowly, silver-white and thin, curling upward like fog after rain. It moved with purpose.

Toward him.

The instant it touched his chest, it vanished.
Not fading.
Not drifting away.
Taken.

His skin absorbed it. Like a starving thing.

More mist followed, pulled from her in slow waves. The air grew heavy. The vapor hummed softly, a low sound felt more than heard, as if the room itself had gone still.

Something ancient stirred inside him.
It recognized this.
It remembered.

His eyes began to change.

At first, only a faint red glint in the darkness. Then deeper. Darker. As more of her essence flowed into him, the red spread, slow and steady.

He leaned back, lifting his face to the night.
He opened himself to it.

The mist continued to pour into him. His eyes burned brighter—red turning to crimson, crimson sinking into something old and wrong.

They glowed now.

A deep, unnatural red.
Alive.

Her movements slowed.

The mist thinned as her body emptied. Each strand weaker than the last. When the final trace slipped free, the glow in his eyes steadied.

Satisfied.
Complete.

He dressed without looking back.

Her limp, motionless body lay there.