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She deflects the praise with a chortle, but the spark in her eyes is undeniable—ambition fuels her as much as it does me.

Our conversation flitters from success to mystery until she leans in, eyes alight with shared secrets, "Any exhilarating tales from the lab's crypt, Dr. Frankenstein?"

The color must drain from my face, but Emily's amusement is clear as day. "The vamp sample, Danica? Any undead secrets uncovered?" Her whisper shrouds the words in mystery.

I cast a quick glance around us, paranoia pricking my skin like a thousand tiny needles. "Emily, not so loud," I hiss, ushering her into silence with a nervous giggle.

Her laughter rings out, uninhibited and infectious, as she covers her mouth in a mock gasp of intrigue. "My sincerest apologies. I forgot we're in the lair of the mad scientist." The wink that follows is both a taunt and a balm.

"You know I can't talk details," I reply quietly. "But let's just say the tests are...intriguing."

"Ooh, intriguing," Emily says, waggling her eyebrows. "Now I'm really curious. Just don't go full Dr. Frankenstein on me, okay?"

"No promises," I joke. We dissolve into silly conspiracy theories and laughter, a soothing balm over my day's edge.

But it's when Emily's tone sobers, a concern knitting her brow, that the old scars on my heart are laid bare. "How's the family saga? Your parents still nagging about grandkids?"

I chuckle, but there's an undercurrent of old hurt. "As always."

A sigh escapes me, a ghost of familial discord. "Ever the loving interrogators," I admit, the weight of adoption and strained ties lightly sheathed in humor. "Let's just say Damon's still the golden child. I should give that punk your regards next time I speak with him," I joke to Emily, and we share a laugh. But underneath, the old ache lingers. My broken family shaped me, even though I rarely speak of it. The memories creep in when I least expect them to.

Emily and I wrap up our meal. I grab my things and head for the exit, calling over my shoulder, "See you tonight at the bar!"

Emily waves back enthusiastically. "Can't wait! I have a few new jokes to try out."

I chuckle as I jog out the door, the prospect of laughs and drinks later fuelling me through the rest of the day's tasks.

My Seattle apartment towers into the night sky, glittering with lights like a jewel box. I love this view. The open floor plan connects the living room, dining nook, and gourmet kitchen. One entire wall is floor-to-ceiling windows with stunning city views.

I close the neutral curtains, shutting out the world to create a sanctuary. My simple bedroom provides all the peace I need. I love curling up in the plush bed after a long day. I can let my scientist side loose at my desk, surrounded by books and journals.

As a bit of an insomniac, I get antsy at home alone for too long. So, I picked up a part-time gig at Playful Pint for extra cash and socializing. The pub's lively vibe is the perfect break from my problems. And the festive uniform is a nice change of pace from my usual lab clothes.

The second I cross the threshold, the bar's signature blend of day-old hops and peanut dust greets me like an old friend. I take a deep breath, letting the chaos of the workday start to peel away, layer by layer. My bag lands with a thunk on the counter—battle-scarred wood that could tell a thousand stories. John gets an ear-to-ear grin from me as I call out, "There's my favorite bartender!"

Looking up, John's face breaks out in familiar lines of welcome. "Ready to work your magic tonight, Dani?" he asks.

"You know it, babe!" I toss back at him with an over-the-top wink and a flourish as I jump into apron mode. John just gives me a good-natured head shake. His chuckle is lost in the growing buzz of the bar.

Mixing and mingling, I move on muscle memory, shooting the breeze with the regulars, letting their laughter and dodgy jokes wash away the last residues of Dr. Pierce, leaving behind just Dani—the queen of cocktails and laughs.

Hours in, the night cracks open with Emily's arrival—her laughter music to my ears. Hair tousled in that 'just so' way, lips a striking slash of red. She's the eye of my storm, the one constant in the tornado of my life.

"Hit me with your latest," I challenge, elbows propped and all ears.

Emily doesn't disappoint. Her one-liners have me howling, almost face-planting into an unsuspecting customer's drink. She's got the magic touch for making it all seem right in the world.

That is until the mood flips like a switch. John's face drains of color as he hangs up the phone. "I gotta go," is all he manages before he's gone, the door slamming shut with a clatter that feels like an omen.

Unease tiptoes up my spine, the sudden shift turning my gut into a clenched fist. Part of me wants to bolt after John, to shake the truth out of his suddenly tense frame. But the night's not done with me—not with patrons signaling for the last call. I'm left alone with the echo of his worry and a bar that suddenly feels too empty, draped in questions I can't answer. What has John gotten himself into?

Rhyland

3

The wind cuts like a damn knife, sending leaves scattering across the stone courtyard. These high walls might have stood for centuries, but they're just stone and old magic to me. A tangle of ivy’s all that’s managed to soften their edges.

"Brooding in the dark again, huh?" Erik's voice breaks through the cold. He walks up like he owns the place, with that typical warrior swagger in his step.