The tough texture of the tea towel scraps against my neck, the dampness cooling the irritated area. I fight to steady my shaky hands, pressing harder into my skin as I scrub away the crimson tint. 

    "Michaela!" I hear Levi call, his fist banging on the locked bathroom door once more. 

    I pause my movements, clenching my eyes shut before opening them and zeroing in on my neck once more. "Levi, fuck off,"

    "What the hell happened? Did someone attack you? Where's Thomas?" He throws questions at me like spitballs. I dodge them all, turning to the door. I rip it open, making eye contact with him as my nostrils flare.

    "None of your damn business, Levi," I deadpan, squeezing past him as I exit the bathroom and make my way to the kitchen. 

    "Is he hurt?" He continues, following closely behind me as he claws for any sort of clues or answers to his burning question. 

    "No, but he's going to be," I clench my jaw, licking the backs of my teeth as rage and embarrassment heat my cheeks. How could he do that? How could he hurt me and drop me off like a discarded object whose only use is to be a nuisance? 

    "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop and forcing me to look at him. I quickly yank my arm out of his hold and step back, the cold embrace only sending me reminders of things I'd rather forget. Levi studies me before his eyes drift to my neck, flicking back and forth as he thinks deeply, "Did he...?

    "What part of 'none of your business' is confusing to you?" I snap, feeling my guards build themselves up higher than ever. "Whatever Thomas and I do does not concern you. Just because I kissed you-"

    "Wow, wow, wow," He cuts me off, waving his hands as if to wipe the slate clean, "You don't have to... to defend yourself so hard. I don't mean to corner you,"

    "Well, you are. So, just back off," I keep my eyes locked on his for a few seconds longer. I lift my hand, slamming my blood-soaked towel into his chest before turning my back to him and walking away. 

    The closer I get to the kitchen the more sick I feel. It's like walking back and forth between a wall made of fire and a wall made of needles. Every turn and every breath is painful in a different way. 

    I hear Alis' sharp breaths, her coughs and rattles only making my back straighten further. 

    Rounding the corner, my eyes fall on my older sister slouched over a chair she's tied to, spit dripping from her mouth as her head hangs over a bucket. I never realised how physically tolling reversing compulsion would be. I've never had to worry about it considering all hunters get given vervain to drink weekly.

    Father Odin has passed us vials at every meeting. Which makes me wonder, how did someone compel Alis?

    Even worse, how did I not remember cleansing night? And why?

    "Alis?" My voice comes out quiet and timid. It makes me want to claw at my throat until it opens and projects my tone as more certain than it is. 

    She lifts her head, her under eyes stained with makeup and darkness while her face is drained of any colour. She looks sick. Alis is never sick. 

    "Mic," She smiles, the ropes loose around her body to allow movement but prevent her from hurting herself until the compulsion is completely gone. 

    The red front door behind me slams, Levi's body disappearing in a blink as he speeds away from the house. I don't bother to let my eyes follow him for long, staring at my sister for any hint of the woman I remember. 

    Alex stands beside her, looking between us awkwardly before nodding his head and turning away. He walks deeper into the kitchen, taking a seat at the dining table so he's close enough without violating our privacy. 

    "Who did this to you, Alis?" I ask, taking a seat on the chair pulled up in front of her. I flip it around, choosing to straddle the furniture in a much more comfortable position. 

    "I'm afraid that compulsion runs deep, Mic. Deeper than can be undone by you guys," She shakes her head, her hair tied back in a messy attempt of a bun, but a few loose strands stick to her sweaty face. 

    "How long have you been compelled?" I ask, studying her as if the answers were engraved in the pores of her skin. Like, if I looked at them long enough, they'd form letters that lead to coherent sentences. Sentences with straight answers. 

    "A long, long time," She admits, her bottom lip quivering only for a second. The sight almost breaks me. I learned this stone facade from her, something she always seemed to be the master of. Seeing emotion in her for even a second feels uncanny.

    I think back to every moment I've spent with her, one in particular tugs at my mind. When I was underwater in the bath, memories of the night my parents died spun on a loop in the void. I remember watching my younger self witness it all over again until Alis swept me and Leila up. Most of all, I remember her emotionless face. 

    It wasn't emotionless in the way she usually is. She seemed like she was on autopilot, trapped screaming in her brain as her body took control. 

    "Were you compelled that night?" I almost gasp, dragging my eyes from the ceiling to her face. She stares back at me like a mirror, both of us with pale skin and big wide eyes. She smiles sadly, her face answering enough for me. "How? How have you been compelled? We've taken vervain every week since we were born. I mean, we'd pretty much chase our breast milk with it,"

    "Yeah, we did," She nods, her face solemn as if even the slightest memory of them aches her to this day. 

    "Did?" I repeat her words, the use of past tense pulling at the strings in my brain. 

    "I'm not the only Reid susceptible to compulsion and manipulation," She gives another vague response. 

    "How?" I stress, pressing my fingers against my temples and rubbing the skin. Every tiny piece of information just expands the puzzle I thought I was close to finishing. Every time I blink there's another section or corner I haven't touched. 

    "I think you know how," Her voice is low, her eyes unblinking as she stares me down. 

    My fingers stop at my temples, my eyebrows furrowing as I drop my hands. I slowly shake my head, refusing to believe it. "No, there's no way,"

    "Michaela," She croaks, her face folding into a bitter smile, "Vampires are real. Our family tradition is an oath to hunt them. Anything is possible," 

    "Why? Why would he-"

    "I don't know. I just know he does," She gives me a somewhat straight answer. 

    "Then, I'm going to find out," I declare, pushing my chair away as I stand up and make my way behind her to snatch a knife from the kitchen table. I pause, examining the knife I was almost forced to stab my sister with. Alex must have pulled it out of the wall. 

    I need to get my dagger back. 

    "Mic, it's dangerous," She calls to me, making her voice loud enough for Alex to hear and take note of. 

    He stands, immediately appearing at my side as I stand in front of Alis once more. 

    "Everything's dangerous," I remind, tucking my knife away into my boot. 

    "I'll come with you," Alex suggests, looking between the two of us. 

    "No. Levi left and someone needs to stay here with her," I nod my head towards Alis. I reach back, pulling my layered hair into a ponytail behind my head. "Besides, Vampires can't go where I'm going,"

    "Which is where?" He asks as I turn my back to him and make my way to the front door. 

    Right as my fingers enclose around the doorknob, I spot an object on the hallway table to my left. Without taking a moment to hesitate, I snatch the gun off of the furniture and let go of the door to tuck the weapon into the back of my jeans. 

    Turning over my shoulder, I make eye contact with Alex and send him a confident smile, "Don't worry about me, Alex. I'll be back before you know it,"

    "I really hate when you get cocky, Mic!" He groans as I close the door behind me, the chill night air nipping at my exposed skin. 

    I pull my keys from my pocket, climbing onto my bike without bothering to put my helmet on.

    It roars to life, the vehicle barrelling down the road within minutes. The familiar path is burned in my brain from the weeks spent taking the same path. If my life does flash before my eyes before I die, I'm sure this route would take up a surprising chunk of time. 

    I rip into the empty carpark, my parking something questionable. I take up multiple spaces, the lines of the parks underneath my wheels where they shouldn't be. I rip the keys from the engine, jamming them in my pocket as I walk towards the stained glass doors. 

   I know he's here. He always is. 

   My steps couldn't be wider as I climb the steps to the double doors. I pull them open, strolling casually into the building with my hands jammed into my pockets. 

    The tall confession booth sits to the left of the room, a soft glow coming from within the confinements. I've sat in that booth since I was 11, bearing my soul and my sins for someone to take and dangle forgiveness above my head. 

   I was never truly forgiven, I never will be. It's easy to pretend you're a hero when the victims of your cruelty die before opposing your view. Now, my sister is one of them. The sickness I feel in my gut over the way I feel about her should be what I need to beg forgiveness for. 

    My love, as it turns out, is conditional. 

    The glowing light above the Priest's door in the booth indicates his presence. The church is empty as it usually is at this time of night. Only the occasional hunter ever comes outside of scheduled meetings to confess their killings. 

   Opening the side door, I step inside the wooden booth and take a seat on the stool. The wood surrounding me is scattered with intricate carvings and designs. I look down at the seat below me, two small letters carved into the wood staring back at me: M & A.

    Each hunter carves their initial into the booth, signifying an eternal need to be forgiven. 

   If what we do is right, why do we always focus so much on the banishment of our sins?

    "Michaela," He says my name like a statement.

    "Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been 3 days since my last confession," I begin, the same words I've said over and over again for my entire life. My voice comes out monotone and uninterested, "I lied to you, Father," 

    "How so?" He questions. The gap between booths allows me to see pieces of his face between the gaps. The light rays filter in, acting like a misleading halo. 

    "Oh, Father Odin. I'm plagued with thoughts and fantasies of a man I shouldn't be," I pitch my voice higher, hiding the smile on my face as I string him along in my game. "I know I should hate his kind but, I can't help it. He just gets me so... hot,"

    He seems to stammer in his thoughts, I can't force back the smile at the idea of my words flustering him. "Michaela, what is this-"

    "He's so good to me, Father. Better than I am to him. And when he drank my blood, god, it was like the sky exploded-"

    "A vampire?" He cuts me off, his tone darker as he makes eye contact with me through the gaps. "A vampire drank from you?"

    "Two of them," I correct, smiling at him. "And I loved every second of it,"

    "Enough of this blasphemy-"

    "I'm not done," I correct, loudly clicking the safety off of my gun as I aim it at him through the small window. I watch as he freezes, his eyes connecting with the barrel of my handgun with shock. "Tell me Father, what are your sins?"