AARÓN CONNOR.

ITALY.

꘎♡━━━━━━━♡꘎

Night is the best friend of predators: *"A dark mantle covers sins and hides claws, the strong do as they please while the weak remain silent."* That's what my father used to say, and now, under that same darkness, I walk completely alone, waiting for them. I don't have the virtue of patience, and it's impressive, but all I want right now is for them to get here already.

The sea wind hits hard, whipping strands of my hair against my face, bringing with it that sweet, rotten stench of spices and death. I know it well—it smells like vampire, like danger, betrayal. I turn sharply at the sound of someone approaching and spot four figures wrapped in dark robes emerging from the shadows. They stop right in front of me, like they're performing some damned medieval ceremony.

"**We're not in the last century anymore, Stefan,**" I say with disdain. "**So you can stop dressing up like idiots.**"

He slowly pulls down his hood, his platinum hair shining even