Negotations

"That's not how we treat guests, little squeak."

Sensing her hamster's growing hostility toward Frank, Ariel stepped forward and scooped him up. Holding him at eye level, she met his beady glare with a firm look of her own.

"Learn some manners," she chided.

Frank chuckled, watching the tiny creature squirm in her hands. "Your hamster doesn't seem to like intruders."

"I don't think so. He's never like this with Violet."

"Oh?" Frank arched a brow, amused. "So it's just a personal grudge against me? I feel special."

Laugh, laugh all you want, Damon seethed. When I shift back, I'll rip you apart, suck you dry, then we'll see who's laughing.

Unaware of the lethal thoughts swirling in the rodent's mind, Frank continued to tease him, poking fun at his tiny size.

"Don't irritate him too much," Ariel warned, her attention shifting toward the cupboard as she rummaged through old files. "If he attacks you, I'm not going to save you."

Damon let out a sharp squeak, his glare unwavering.

"Oh, come on, what could this cute little thing even—"

Before Frank could finish, Damon launched himself at his face. Tiny but vicious, he sank his sharp teeth into the man's skin—again and again, relentless.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" Frank shouted, frantically trying to tear the hamster away. Blood trickled down his neck as he finally managed to pry Damon off and hurl him across the room.

But Damon wasn't done.

Landing on all fours, he raised his deceptively adorable claws—no longer cute in Frank's eyes—and prepared to lunge again.

Frank, now thoroughly panicked, bolted behind Ariel, using her as a human shield.

Ariel, still flipping through files, barely spared them a glance. "Told ya," she said dryly, rolling her eyes.

Frank peeked over her shoulder, panting. "Is this even a hamster?! Ariel, I swear, he might as well be a damn spiritual beast! Hamsters are supposed to be cute!"

Ariel finally pulled out a small, worn-out picture and held it up. "Here. Your pick."

Frank's fear momentarily faded as he took the photograph. It was of a young boy, no older than five or six. A gentle smile curved his lips, and his dark brown hair bore a striking resemblance to Ariel's.

Ariel fell silent, her gaze fixed on the image.

The days before the apocalypse felt like a dream—one she could barely hold onto. She had been eight when the world crumbled. Back then, there were no vampires, no supernatural beings, no constant struggle for survival. Just a simple, happy family. She and her little brother playing in the backyard, unaware of the storm that would soon steal everything from them.

Frank opened his mouth to say something but hesitated when he saw her expression. This was the first time he had ever seen her smile. And for a fleeting second, it was mesmerizing.

"The picture's old," he finally said, his voice softer.

"It's the only one I have of Leo," Ariel murmured, handing it over. "He must be taller now… fifteen years have passed."

Frank studied the photo, rubbing his chin. "Well, fifteen years is a long time. He's probably a full-grown adult by now."

"He had a mole on the right side of his chin."

Frank nodded. "That makes things easier." He pocketed the photo and gave her a reassuring look. "Don't worry—I'll try my best."

As he turned to leave, he hesitated for just a moment. Then, with a small smile, he said, "You look good when you smile. You should do it more often."

Ariel blinked, momentarily caught off guard. She wasn't sure how to respond.

Frank didn't wait for an answer. He simply left, letting his words linger in the air.

...

"Our team isn't the right fit for this task."

Ariel didn't waste time. She strode straight to Marcus, her expression set in stone.

Marcus, the ever-composed mediator between Vicktor and Frank's team, had been expecting her. He leaned back slightly, amusement flickering in his sharp gaze.

"You bristle at any assignment that doesn't involve ruthless killing," he remarked. "Funny, considering that at the start, you used to refuse the dangerous ones."

Ariel met his gaze without hesitation. "Back then, I didn't have a team." Her voice was steady, unwavering. "I wasn't trained. Survival was my only objective."

Marcus exhaled slowly. "We need a fighter team for this task."

"Then find another one." Her tone was firm. "My team and I are better off staying out of Vicktor's political bullshit."

He studied her for a long moment before sighing. "You don't understand, Ariel. Purebloods are powerful—too powerful. If we want to survive, we need alliances, whether we like it or not. And your team is the best representation of our people." His voice softened, attempting persuasion. "In this world, purebloods aren't the only threat. Sometimes, our own kind can be just as dangerous."

Ariel crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Survival isn't about playing politics, Marcus. It's about knowing when to fight and when to walk away. This? This isn't a fight—it's a trap."

Marcus tilted his head. "You think Vicktor would set up his own people?"

She let out a dry chuckle. "Vicktor doesn't see us as his people. He sees us as pawns. And pawns get sacrificed first."

Marcus rubbed his temples, clearly anticipating this resistance. "Ariel, you're not wrong to be cautious. But this mission isn't just about politics. It's about securing leverage. If we refuse, we lose any say in what happens next. You know how that ends."

She clenched her jaw, hating that he had a point. But she had a point too.

"I won't put my team in a situation where we're disposable."

"You're not disposable," Marcus insisted. "You're necessary."

Ariel held his gaze for a long moment, weighing her options. She hated this game. She hated being forced into a role she never wanted. But most of all, she hated the idea of being backed into a corner.

She finally sighed. "Tell me everything. No half-truths. No sugarcoating."

Marcus gave a small, knowing smile. "Now we're getting somewhere."