After the donation, Rico noticed Dr. Harry’s face, and something in the man’s expression made him pause, even if only for a fraction of a second. Suspicion laced the doctor’s gaze, mingled with curiosity so subtle it almost passed for politeness. The way his eyes lingered on the blood bag, the faint twitch of his fingers as if he wanted to reach out, touch it, confirm something unspoken—it was all too telling. Rico felt the weight of it pressing down on him, a quiet, insistent scrutiny that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. He pretended not to notice. That had always been his way: a calm mask, a practiced neutrality that hid every pulse, every quiver of recognition. “Dr. Harry, are we done?” Rico’s voice was smooth, even, but his ears caught the tiny catch in the man’s throat, the subtle hitch in his breath. “E—emhh… are we?” Dr. Harry stammered, turning his back slightly, as if shielding himself from the glow. “I mean… sorry, Master Rico. We are done,” he added quickly

Melinda paced back and forth across the room, the sound of her shoes tapping softly against the tiles. She wasn’t walking for exercise or to burn energy—her body simply wouldn’t settle. Her palms were damp, and she kept rubbing them up and down her arms, trying to stop the trembling that kept coming back. Her chest felt tight, not painfully, but enough for her to notice that breathing took more effort than usual. She bit down on her lower lip, thinking hard, trying to convince herself she was overreacting, but the uneasiness wouldn’t go away. Her phone lay on the dining table, just sitting there, but it felt like it was staring at her. She knew she needed to do something. She had already replayed the same thoughts in her head for close to an hour. Pacing wasn’t helping. Panicking wasn’t helping. Silence definitely wasn’t helping. Finally, she walked toward the phone. Her fingers brushed over it, cool and smooth, but when she picked it up, her hands trembled again. The devic

Dr. Harry froze, his hand hovering over the pulsating bag of blood hidden beneath the drawer of his desk. The glow leaked faintly around the edges, pulsing with an unnatural light that seemed almost alive, and his chest tightened as if the very warmth beneath his palm were pressing against him. Every heartbeat thundered in his ears, each one louder than the last, and he felt a sudden, choking panic creeping up his throat. BANG! BANG! BANG! “Doctor Harry!” The pounding of the office door jolted him further. With a shaking hand, he shoved the bag fully into the drawer and slammed it shut. His fingers pressed flat against the wood, forcing it flush, willing the glow to vanish, but the faint red shimmer persisted, stubborn and defiant. He swallowed hard and took a trembling step toward the door, smoothing his lab coat in a vain attempt to appear calm. His legs felt like lead, and the sweat prickling at his temples made the world feel suddenly claustrophobic. The door burs

Melinda froze the instant she heard Ramon’s voice. The sound cut through the quiet apartment like a blade. Her heart skipped a beat, and her fingers tightened around her phone. Slowly, almost too slowly, she turned toward him. Ramon stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his face set in a mask of anger and suspicion. The dim light from the hallway threw shadows across his features, sharpening the sharp lines of his jaw and the dark storm brewing in his eyes. He didn’t say a word at first, and the silence between them pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Then he spoke, his voice low, steady, and dangerous in a way that made Melinda’s stomach twist. “You’re cheating on me, aren’t you? Calling your boyfriend?” Her mouth went dry. “What? Ramon, what do you mean?” she asked, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay composed. He took a slow step into the room, and every movement seemed deliberate, measured, like a predator closing in. “You heard

Harry did not move. For a long, tense moment, it felt as though the entire world had paused to watch him. The office was oppressively quiet. The air was heavy and still, and even the faint hum of the overhead lights seemed to pierce his ears. His heart thudded against his chest in a staccato rhythm that made every nerve in his body tremble. Each beat felt like a drum of warning, echoing painfully in his skull, alerting him to a danger he could neither name nor avoid. The voice came again, calm and deliberate, carrying an unnerving authority. “You did very well, Doctor.” Harry froze completely, as if a sudden weight had been placed on his shoulders. He turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing, unsure whether he was ready to face the intruder. His vision blurred at the edges, but the figure that stepped into the room remained sharply in focus. Nr. Diana. Of course it was Diana—the same one who had come with a complaint about the blood, the one he had asked to check the logs.