"Getting dark soon." Dante glanced at the ceiling. "You got anything?"
"I don't even know what string I'm looking for," Sarah muttered, rubbing her temples.
"Alright then." He turned to the tied vampire, crouching down. The building was damp and dark, mold creeping up the walls in wet, black patches. The vampire lay sprawled across the dirty floor, wrists bound behind his back, glaring up with yellowed eyes. Dante yanked the gag from his mouth. "Where the hell is Two Fangs?"
The vampire spat. "Fuck you."
Blood-flecked saliva hit Dante's cheek. He didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Just shoved the gag back in with a little more force than necessary.
"Well, that was delightful," he said, wiping his face with his sleeve.
Sarah's eyes were closed, her jaw tight. Her hand gripped the air like she was trying to grab something invisible—fingers twitching, searching. Dante glanced at her.
"Hey. Maybe take a breath—"
"I just need y'all to be quiet," she said, her voice flat and sharp as a blade.
Dante raised his hands and stepped back. As he rolled his eyes.
Sarah focused. Colors swirled behind her eyelids. Green squares. Red triangles. Orange hexagons. She'd never solved math problems like Kínitos. Her power didn't work that way—it was never about equations, never about numbers. It was about patterns. The way things fit together. The one piece that didn't belong.
And this one was just out of reach.
Then the hexagon shifted. The triangle aligned. The square locked into place.
She studied them.
Red. Triangle. Three letters. Three sides. That fits.
Orange. Hexagon. Six letters. Six sides. That fits.
But the green square...
Green. Square. Five letters. Four sides. That doesn't fit.
She stared at it, waiting for the answer. Then it clicked.
The odd one out. The one that doesn't fit the pattern. That's the target.
She thought of the green square reaching out in her mind. The shape dissolved, and in its place—a string. Bright green. Thick, pulsing like a vein. It stretched through the air, threading between the walls, winding through the building like a living thing.
Sarah opened her eyes.
The green string led from her chest, across the room, and wrapped around the tied vampire on the ground.
Her heart dropped.
"Wait... it's you," she breathed.
Dante looked down at the vampire, then back at Sarah. "You're kidding."
The vampire stopped struggling. His eyes widened. Dante removed the gag.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, voice cracking. "I'm just a foot soldier. I don't know nothing."
Sarah walked forward, following the string with her eyes. It was wrapped around his chest like a rope. Tight. Tied around something deeper—his identity. His purpose.
"Two Fangs is watching us through you," she said slowly. "The green string connects him to the people he controls."
Dante's grin returned, sharp and dangerous. "So this guy's got mind control?"
"No." Sarah shook her head. "He's not controlling anyone. He's just playing the part of a prisoner to keep an eye on us."
The vampire went pale. The color drained from his face like water down a drain.
Sarah looked him dead in the eyes. "Where is Two Fangs?"
The vampire's eyes rolled back—white, no hue of color, no pupil, no iris. Just empty, milky white. A shiver went down Sarah's spine. Not fear exactly. Something else. Nervousness, yes. But also—
The room shifted.
The temperature dropped. Her breath fogged in front of her face. The mold on the walls seemed to pulse, darkening to black. Then she saw it. Right above the vampire's forehead. A black line that used to be there—now green. It stretched long through the walls, into the distance, like a glowing vein threading through the building's bones.
"No matter," the vampire said, but the voice wasn't his. It was deeper. Older. Sliding out of his throat like oil. "I must applaud you. You're quite smart. But you won't find me."
Sarah connected Dante and herself to the stream. Now they could both see the strings—green threads stretching through the air like spider silk, connecting everything. She looked at Dante, and the expression on his face told her everything. She wasn't winning this.
"Your death will be—" the vampire started.
Before he could finish, Dante was gone.
He ran. Fast. Faster than most people could move. He followed the green trail—that green road, that green line—through winding alleys and crumbling streets, over fences and through abandoned lots. His lungs burned. His legs screamed. But he didn't stop.
Until he stumbled upon a little house.
"Other side of the fucking city..some bullshit," spat out Dante as he catches his breath
It sat alone at the end of a dead-end street. Wooden. Rotting. Windows dark and empty. He opened the door. Nothing. Nothing at all. Just an empty room, dust swirling in the dim light, and the green rope hanging mid-air in the center like a noose waiting for its neck.
Pulling out his phone, Dante dialed.
"There's nothing here," he said.
"What—what do you mean it should lead to him," Sarah said.
Behind her, the vampire laughed. An ugly, evil laugh.
"I told you," the vampire said, his voice slithering through the speaker. "It's too late. I'm 'finna have my revenge with my own hands."
"Wait," Sarah said, eyes widening. "It's a trap—"
The phone cut off.
"Hey? You there?" Dante said into the dead receiver.
Static. Then nothing. He checked his phone, seeing no bars, the screen glitching and flickering before it went black. His stomach turned inside out. The air in the building shifted—no longer damp and moldy, but heavy. Wet. Green. It smelled of wet grass and shrubs, of earth after rain.
Danger.
He rushed to the door. He pulled. Locked. He punched through—or tried to. The door didn't budge. It felt like iron, and his fist bounced off, bones bruising on impact.
"What the hell?" he muttered.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a man in a white mask step from the shadows. A green rope was attached to his forehead, trailing behind him like a leash.
"Well, well," the man said. "I caught me something."
"Two Fangs," Dante said, voice flat.
"Now what should we do to him, Bamby?" Two Fangs asked, tilting his head.
"I... huh... don't want to hurt anyone," a voice said.
It came from everywhere. The walls. The floor. The ceiling. It echoed and layered over itself, soft and sad, almost apologetic.
"Now that's creepy," Dante said, and though his voice was steady, there was a flicker of fear behind his eyes.
"Oh, sorry," the voice replied.
And then Bamby stepped from the shadows.
---
Its body was tall. Impossible. Thin as a dried reed, swaying slightly as if moved by a wind that didn't exist. Its skin was the texture of weathered bark—gray-brown and cracked, with glowing amber fissures running along its limbs like sap bleeding through stone. Each crack pulsed with a dim, rhythmic light, slow and steady.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A heartbeat. Visible through its skull.
Its face was elongated, eyeless, with a smooth, featureless expanse where features should be. Except for a single vertical slit—a wound, an opening, a doorway—that pulsed with that same amber light. It was watching him. Dante could feel it watching him, even without eyes.
Its arms ended in four long, delicate fingers, curled inward as if frozen mid-reach. Moss clung to its shoulders like a shawl, and tiny white flowers had taken root in the crevices of its collarbone, blooming silently. They opened and closed with each slow breath the creature took.
It was kneeling. One hand rested on a small ship floating beside it—a craft made of bone and metal, fused together by roots and time. The alien's posture was frozen in a gesture that looked almost like prayer. Or grief. Or surrender.
Fear took hold of Dante. Not the controlled fear he was used to. This was something deeper—primal. His heart hammered against his ribs, threatening to crack through his chest.
"No running from this one," Two Fangs said, grinning beneath his mask.