Vernon walked through a narrow alley lined with modest houses—faded paint, iron gates, the quiet weight of middle-class life.
He stopped in front of a two-storey house.
His eyes moved once—left, right, behind—making sure no one was watching.
Then he pressed the doorbell.
The door opened almost immediately.
Emma stood there, irritation written across her face.
Without a word, Vernon stepped inside.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Upstairs,” Emma replied. “And why did you bring her here?”
The frustration in her voice was impossible to miss.
“It’s temporary,” Vernon said. “I’ll move her soon.”
Emma let out a dry, humorless laugh. “I don’t know if I’ll survive that long. She’s a beast.”
She raised her hand.
Two fresh bite marks, red and swollen.
“Look what she did when I tried to feed
