It was getting late. The mountain air was freezing, but I was still sitting alone on the wooden bench near the orange grove. The sky was clear. The full moon overhead kept dragging my mind back to what Grandpa had said earlier.
'Emerald Moon.'
A disaster. A rotten plan. Human guinea pigs. A complete package of things nobody ever wants to hear.
I looked at the orange leaves swaying in the wind. Dark green.
Green.
For some reason, that word wouldn't leave me alone. Grandpa had slipped in one very specific detail: Zylar Grimmwolf was a green-eyed werewolf.
My breath caught. The memory of what happened in Alan's apartment came rushing back. That night, when he was drunk. His grip almost crushing my shoulder. The metallic smell of blood. And the clearest part... his eyes.
That night, his eyes hadn't been their usual dark blue. They were bright green. Glowing. And I was pretty sure that wasn't just his apartment lighting.
My heartbeat started going haywire. The data in my head slowly connected. Alan's other side. Green eyes. Werewolf.
Was that possible?
My fingertips trembled. My logic still wanted to reject it, but my instincts had already said: yes, this fits.
I couldn't stand thinking about it alone, so I got up from the bench. Half running, I went back into the house and opened the bedroom door.
Only one lamp was on, pale yellow. Alan was lying on the floor. His eyes were shut tight, his breathing heavy and fast. His shirt was soaked with cold sweat. He looked like he was in pain, like he was holding back something that wanted out.
Seeing him like that scared me. I felt bad for him too. Both hit at the same time, which was incredibly annoying. But I needed an answer.
"Alan."
He jolted and shot to his feet. His eyes checked the room fast, then stopped on me.
"Alina...?" His voice was hoarse. Either exhausted, or fresh from fighting with his own head.
I stepped in and shut the door. "Answer me honestly," I said, no warm-up. "That night at your apartment, when I helped you get home... your eyes were green."
Alan's jaw tightened. He looked at me for a second, then lowered his gaze. "No, Alina. I told you. It was just a dream. You panicked that night."
"Alan, don't dodge this," I pressed, taking one step forward. "I know what I saw and what I felt."
Alan was cornered. His shoulders tensed, but he still didn't talk.
"You heard what Grandpa said about green-eyed werewolves," I said, cutting off every escape route. "Alan, be honest with me. That side of you... is it... a werewolf?"
The room went silent. It felt way too small.
Alan stayed quiet for a long time. He exhaled, and it was obvious he was still deciding whether to lie again or give up.
"Yes."
My chest tightened. Even though I'd already guessed, hearing it directly from Alan made my knees go weak. I backed up until my back hit the door.
"How? How does something like that even get inside you?"
Alan looked like he was having trouble putting the words together. He swallowed, then finally managed to look at me. "When I was little, they said my body was weak. I almost didn't survive. My mom panicked and did whatever she had to do to keep me alive. After that... I became this. I'm not a pure vampire, Alina. I'm mixed."
"Then why did it come out now?"
"The sake that night was laced with fentanyl," Alan said, his voice dropping. "It broke through my defenses, and he took over. That was the first time I lost control. I swear." He swallowed. "I'm sorry. I dragged you this far into danger."
I watched him for a long moment. For half a second, I did think about calling him a monster and running. But looking at him now—shoulders down, face full of guilt—the person in front of me was just a guy terrified of his own body. Alan wasn't making excuses. He wasn't asking me to understand. He was just admitting he was wrong.
The tension in my chest slowly eased. I let out a breath and tried to use my brain again.
"Okay. Thank you for telling me the truth," I said at last. "At least now we know the limit. The trigger is only fentanyl, right?"
"Yes."
"No other factors?"
"No."
"What about other substances? Not fentanyl exactly, but maybe similar narcotics?" I asked. Analysis mode was turning back on.
"No. In ninety-five years, that was the only thing that's ever knocked me down."
"We still need to prepare. I still want to stay beside you, Alan, but I also happen to like being alive."
"Yeah. I understand." Alan nodded quietly.
"Then we're making rules," I said firmly. "One: if your control starts slipping, tell me right away. Two: if that wild side gets out again and you can't pull him back... I run as far as I can."
Alan lowered his head and nodded like he had already accepted it. "Yes. That's the right rule. Run as far away from me as possible."
"And you?"
"I'll handle it." His answer came fast, like he'd thought about it way too many times.
My throat felt tight. But my brain was still working. Something didn't add up. Weren't vampires supposed to almost never get sick? Alan could even heal from wounds in seconds. So why had his body been so weak as a child that he needed something that extreme to survive? What kind of illness almost killed him? Was his mother hiding something?
I didn't dare ask more. His head was already full enough tonight.
I tried to process all that new information. Then one more piece suddenly clicked into place, and my face went cold.
"Wait," I said, looking at Alan. "Grandpa said Zylar was a green-eyed werewolf, right?"
Alan tensed immediately. He knew exactly where my mind was going.
"The guy at the festival... the one who found me. That was Zylar?!" My voice squeaked.
Alan gave a heavy nod. "Yes. That was Zylar Grimmwolf."
"Oh my God. He snuck onto campus and walked around like he owned the place." I held my breath. "He must have someone on the inside. There's no way he could move around that freely. Damn it." I raked a hand through my hair.
"There's no solid proof yet, but my gut says the same thing," Alan said seriously.
The way he answered made me suspect he was holding back information so I wouldn't spiral even harder.
My mind was already running everywhere, trying to remember suspicious faces on campus. Nobody had openly worn a butterfly symbol. Nobody had obviously green eyes either.
Someone from another department?
Or... Marina?
No way.
She didn't have a tattoo.
Sure, she liked wolf-themed stuff, but that was normal.
Her phone case had a green moon on it, yes, but—
I bit my lip hard, forcing that stupid thought away.
Impossible.
I'd known her since high school. That ridiculous suspicion had to be coincidence.
The crickets outside were getting louder, about as loud as my head. I hurried to change the subject before everything got messier.
"What's the name of the werewolf inside you?" I asked, trying to calm my heartbeat.
Alan shook his head. "I don't know. I can't communicate with him directly. The sealing of the werewolf soul was handled by someone else. My parents just received the finished result."
"There's no way to get him out?"
"Impossible. My mom said I'm alive because of him."
I glanced at his fingers, still stiff with tension. "Your life must be exhausting. But... what if you tried working with him?"
"What? Collaborate?"
"Yeah. Make a deal. Don't hurt people, don't wreck your body. Sometimes making peace with reality is saner than rejecting it forever."
Alan looked at me for a long time, like he was weighing my insane idea. "Logically, yes. The problem is, my darker side is brutal. Harsh. Wild. Like an animal that can't be tamed."
"If I were him, I'd be furious too," I replied. "Forced into the body of a vampire, his natural enemy. What soul wouldn't rebel? The question is: why him? Why didn't your mother ask another vampire for help instead?"
Alan looked down, his shoulders sagging. "You're right. We're both anomalies. I'm mixed by race. You're mixed by faction."
I gave a dry smile. "So what now? Are you going to find out where the werewolf inside you came from?"
"Not a chance." His jaw hardened again. "Whoever he is, I'll never forgive him."
I nodded. Fair. It wasn't easy to connect two clans that had hated each other for generations.
My eyes wandered around the room, looking for a distraction. The window. The curtains. Then they stopped on the childhood photo of me sitting on the table.
The moment I saw it, another memory clicked.
My conversation with Grandma suddenly connected on its own:
'Didn't you like playing at Slapton Ley? You don't remember?'
I closed my eyes, forcing my childhood memories to surface.
A cool lake in the mountains.
Wet grass.
A castle far up on the hill.
A vacation with Dad.
Then nothing.
"Alan."
"Hm?"
I lifted my face. "Help me."
He looked at me for a long moment, like he'd already guessed I was about to ask for something weird.
"I want to test something." I gripped the edge of my sleeve. "I went to Slapton Ley with Dad once. There was a dinner party. The room was red. The glasses were red too. After that, blank."
"What do you want?"
"Give me a trigger."
"How?"
I swallowed. "Let me drink your blood."
His eyes widened. "Alina, don't be insane."
He stepped back. I stepped forward.
"Alan, please."
"I'm not a pure vampire. We don't know what it could do." His hands held my shoulders—not hard, more out of panic.
"But I'm a Humanos. I should be immune, right? It shouldn't affect me."
"It's not that simple."
"At least let us try. Please."
My voice was quiet, but I wasn't backing down.
Alan went silent. My messy breathing must have been obvious to him. A few seconds later, his grip on my shoulders slowly loosened.
"Okay. But if anything feels strange in your body—even a little—you stop immediately."
I nodded fast.
He lifted his left wrist and bit into his own skin. Thick red blood welled up. A sweet metallic scent spread through the room and made my chest tighten.
I stepped closer and drank slowly. Warm and sharp.
My head went light right away, like the floor under me had shifted.
One swallow.
Two.
My body rejected the taste on instinct, but I forced myself to swallow.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus.
Alan stood frozen in front of me, his eyes never leaving me.
Then I coughed hard.
My vision split—half of it still seeing this room, half of it catching a strange room with red walls.
"I've... I've tasted this before," I said hoarsely, my breath uneven. "There was a man with a cut on his finger. He held his hand out in front of my mouth."
"What do you mean?"
"This isn't the first time I've drunk vampire blood."
Alan's jaw tightened. "What?"
"Dad was there," I whispered. "The vampire had blue eyes. Expensive clothes, like a nobleman."
Alan looked like he had forgotten how to breathe.
I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. "He was... Vincent Helsinki."
Alan's face went deathly pale. His shoulders dropped, and fear showed in his eyes.
"Alina... you're not joking, are you?"
"Who is he, Alan?"
He ran a hand through his hair. "Alina, you're a Humanos. This should be impossible. In my entire life, I've only met Vincent twice—once at a clan gathering, and once when I was exiled."
"Who is he?" I pressed.
"The oldest vampire. Our ancestor. The leader of all vampires."
Alan stared straight at me, still unable to believe it. "Alina, what else do you remember?"
"He... he carried me. Then we spun around like we were dancing. In that big room, there was only Dad, me, and Vincent."
"What else? Anything that could be a clue."
"Snow was falling. There were paintings all over the walls. Dad stood far from the dining table. He looked sad. Vincent was smiling. There was soft music."
Alan frowned. "A private meeting? How is that possible?"
I pressed my lips together. "That's what we need to find out now."
Alan nodded. "Okay. We'll investigate your father."
Not wanting to waste time, we left the room. I half ran, with Alan following behind me.
"Grandma, what was Dad's connection to Vincent?" I asked as soon as we reached the living room.
At the sound of that name, Grandma, who was folding laundry, suddenly stopped. Her face changed—somewhere between grief and panic.
"How would I know? Luveri always kept his distance from us. He moved on his own and didn't want us involved."
"That's not true. You still cared about Dad. You're just hiding it."
"He was the head of Hammer. Of course he'd meet his boss."
"Then what happened?"
"I already told you. Even with family, Luveri didn't say much. He kept his secrets to himself. Why? Because we were Danzel. We were enemies, Alina."
"Then where was Dad's house? Where did Mom live after he got her out?"
"He could've lived anywhere. Moscow, Bali, Tijuana... he was a fugitive. That was the risk he took when he ran off with Hana."
Alan cut in. "So Luveri met the vampire ancestor to ask for protection? Because Hammer must have been furious when he took Hana and ran?"
I turned to Alan. "That makes sense. We need to find out the truth."
"Where are you going?" Grandma snapped, standing up and glaring at me.
"To look for Dad's trail. If you don't want to help, that's fine. Just don't get in my way."
"Didn't you hear what I just told you? You could become a Hammer fugitive too, Alina!"
"If that's the risk, I'll take it. But I'm not going to sit here and do nothing."
Alan gently pulled my hand, trying to calm me down before my voice got any louder.
"Enough," he said softly. "We'll find out ourselves."
"Yeah. Maybe we can start with Dr. Richard," I muttered, rushing toward the front door.
We had almost reached the car when footsteps sounded from the wooden veranda.
"Alina."
Grandpa stood there. In the moonlight, he looked smaller than usual.
"About Hammer, we really don't know much. Your father kept everything locked down," Grandpa said quietly. "But... I did hear he once worked somewhere."
Startled, I turned around. The shaking in my body disappeared at once.
"Where?"
"A French restaurant. La Chance, in Toyama."
A French restaurant in Toyama.
I stored that name carefully in my head. Finally, something we could actually chase.
"It might have just been a front. But if any old employees are still there, I doubt they'd forget Luveri Hamish."
I hugged Grandpa hard on instinct.
He had to pat my back gently before I let go.
"Thanks, Grandpa."
"Be careful, Alina." Grandpa turned and looked closely at Alan. "Alan... I'm trusting Alina to you. Please protect her."
Alan nodded firmly.
Our car sped off into the night. Thin fog settled over the road ahead. Alan stayed focused behind the wheel. I sat quietly beside him, staring at the empty asphalt.
Grandpa's words kept circling in my head. Why had he trusted Alan with me? Their first meeting hadn't exactly gone smoothly. But Grandpa's eyes had been dead serious. As if, to him... Alan was the only hope.