How it begins
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The sun hasn’t risen in three years.
Not properly. Just a pale, watery light that seeps through the permanent cloud cover like milk through cheesecloth.
You’re standing at the window of the house they gave you. Two stories. Creaking floorboards. A yard with a dead tree.
Behind you, the others are waking up.
Maya
Y/n. Breakfast’s cold again.
It’s always cold. The vampires don’t allow fires after dawn. Something about the smoke.
Y/n? You listening?
