6. 5

5

Serina

I woke up in a hospital bed. My head was pounding, and as I gathered my bearings, I realized who was here with me.

Sam was asleep upright in the chair next to my bed. I assumed Uncle Theo was here too, or maybe Sam had just snuck out without anyone knowing. How did she know I was here?

“Sam.” My voice was so hoarse and weak—nothing like me.

She stirred, squinting over at me, but once she realized I was awake, she scurried out of the chair to my side. Crawling into my hospital bed with me, she wrapped her arms around me.

She cupped my cheeks, looking into my eyes as if she were making sure I was alive, or maybe she wanted to be sure I wasn’t one of them.

Her eyes swirled with so much emotion it made my chest ache as the image of my dad barreled to the forefront of my mind.

I buried it. I couldn’t face it—wouldn’t.

Sorrow and rage and pain .

“We know. My dad went through the woods that you were in and found him. We moved his body. Once you’re out of the hospital, we’ll have a hunter’s funeral.”

I didn’t have any words; every single one got caught at the boulder of emotion sitting in my throat, making it impossible to breathe. I swallowed it down.

My dad was dead.

He was gone.

And they would pay.

Every last one of them.

“Serina,” Sam whispered, eyeing me, noting the expressionless look on my face. A mask. She didn’t say anything else, accepting the only thing I would give her: my silent pain.

She laid next to me, not knowing she was urging me through the chaos raging through my mind.

Hours passed. I showered and got into some clean clothes, sitting on my bed with Sam as she told me what she knew.

“We got a call from the hospital since you have us down as your emergency contact. When they told us you were here alone, we rushed here as fast as we could. They don’t know anything about the people who saved you. The only information they got out of them was they saw you on the side of the road, so they stopped to help.

“We assumed it was a Vampire attack based on the nurse’s descriptions of your wounds, so since it was daylight, my dad went to search the woods for Uncle John. He found him and moved him to the cellar at the cabin. He's on ice. The nurse said if you do well tonight, you can be discharged in the morning.”

I didn’t feel the pain; whether it was from the painkillers I was sure they had given me or maybe it was how broken my soul was now, it didn’t matter.

For now, I laid back in the bed and closed my eyes.

All I could do was hope that nightmares wouldn’t come for me because I didn’t think I’d survive having to relive that day.

“We got your new IDs and credit cards situated. Whoever did this must have known who you were, and now they probably think you’re dead. We should keep it that way. Stay low when you get out of here. Make sure no one realizes who you are. From now on, you’re Megan Brady.”

Sam laid on the bed next to me, a silent comfort. Having a new identity was nothing new. It was how we went about most of our cases.

Sam and I had always did well to read each other. Even whenever I lost my mom, she knew exactly what to do to be there for me. Asking me what I needed, how she could help. Or just simply talking to me about what’s next like she was now.

Keeping my mind on other things. I couldn’t picture my life without her. Even more so whenever this life would become unbearable.

I lay there stewing, my sorrow nothing but rage now. I’m a survivor… I thought to myself. Sam didn’t say anything, just let the truth settle between us as all the emotions ate me alive.

The damp earth of the forest floor yielded beneath my boots as I stood there surrounded by towering trees that seemed to touch the sky. The scent of pine needles and moss mingled with the heavier, acrid smell of petrol that had been doused over the pyre.

Beside me, Sam's presence was a silent pillar of shared sorrow, her eyes clouded with grief. And Uncle Theo, the stoic rock of our family, so similar to my dad in so many ways, had lines of unspoken sadness etching deeper grooves into his weathered face.

They both knew better than to try and comfort me with words. In our world, words were futile against the kind of loss we faced.

My heart was a battleground of emotions. Sorrow gnawed at me, an insidious worm that left hollow spaces where warmth used to be. Grief was the heavy cloak that settled on my shoulders, relentless in its weight.

And anger, oh, it burned through my veins like wildfire, igniting a fierce need for revenge that threatened to consume me, and I’d let it.

Each emotion demanded my attention, but I couldn't give in. Not yet.

I moved forward, my legs carrying me toward the pyre with a resolve I didn't feel. Dad lay there, peaceful as if he were merely asleep, and not stolen from us by monsters.

In one hand, the flame danced atop the torch, casting flickering shadows across the clearing. My fingers clenched around it, the wood rough against my skin.

This was the last thing I could do for him as his daughter, the last rite for a hunter whose life had been cut tragically short.

With a motion that felt both final and freeing, I tossed the torch onto the pyre. Flames erupted, greedily consuming the kindling before licking their way up to the heavens. Heat blasted my face, and I took a few steps back, the fire illuminating the tears that dared to escape down my cheeks.

Sam and Uncle Theo remained a respectful distance away, their silhouettes cast against the glow of the blaze. They understood the importance of this moment, leaving me to stand vigil as the embodiment of my father—his strength, his love, his legacy—was reduced to nothing but ashes and memories.

“Goodbye, Dad,” I whispered into the fire's roar, letting the words carry away into the night sky. “I promise I will avenge you.”

The pyre crackled and popped, an undersong to accompany the war of emotions within me. As I watched the flames reach skyward, something settled in my chest—a mixture of determination and raw fucking rage.