i know the end

Hector didn’t wake up that morning feeling refreshed. In fact, it felt like his body was craving more sleep, his mind and limbs weighed down with grogginess. He turned over and grabbed his phone from the nightstand, blinking at the time on the screen. Nearly 9 a.m.? What the hell? He rarely slept past 6 a.m., even if he hadn’t gone to bed until 5. Sleep just wasn’t a priority for him.

His attention quickly shifted from the time to a missed call from Connie. Instead of calling back right away, he texted her to say he’d call in an hour or so.

Calling Connie on his way to work and just before bed had become a routine—a small but undeniable source of happiness he wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself. Still, he reminded himself that things wouldn’t end the way they had with Evelyn. For one, Connie wasn’t human, so she couldn’t end up hanged in the town square for a crime she didn’t commit. Not that Connie had revealed exactly what she was yet—she kept saying she’d tell him soon, always with a teasing lilt in her voice that left him curious but never pressing too hard.

It felt cliché to admit, but Connie wasn’t like other girls. There was something about her—something that brought a genuine smile to his face and made him want to spend more time with her. For Hector, that was unheard of. He usually bailed after the first date. But Connie? He wanted her to stick around.

When he arrived at the club, a faint rumble in his stomach. He headed straight downstairs, grabbing a blood bag from the fridge to suppress his hunger. But as he stared at the bag, he couldn’t bring himself to tear into it. Instead, he grabbed a bag of chips from the storeroom.

On his way back through the bar, something in the mirror caught his eye. He stopped dead in his tracks, moving closer to examine his reflection. His fingers ran through his dark hair, stopping where a streak of silver stood out among the black strands. A sense of unease crept over him.

He made his way upstairs, each step heavier than the last and strangely taxing on his knees. By the time he reached Luc’s office, concern had turned to full-on alarm. He knocked loudly, wincing at the sharp pain in his knuckles from the simple motion.

Pushing the door open, Hector pointed to his head, his finger pressing against the streak of silver. “Am I losing my bloody mind, or is my hair going grey?” He ripped open the bag of chips and tossed a few into his mouth. But as he chewed, something foreign crunched against his teeth. His chewing stopped, and he reached into his mouth to pull out the culprit. A tooth. “What the fuck?” The words tumbled from Hector’s mouth, rare and raw with genuine shock.

LUC FOURNIER