Rendezvous Under the Moonshadow

Chapter 4: City Whispers

By the time Anya left the bookstore that felt like an amber-preserved piece of time, the eastern skyline was already blushing with the faint, pearly-white light of dawn. For most of Veridian City’s residents, dawn represented rebirth and hope. For Anya, it meant the temporary end of a waking nightmare.

She didn't go home. Instead, as if guided by some ghost, she found herself circling back to the vicinity of St. Jude's. Hiding in the shadows of an alley, like a wounded fox, she watched the Gothic structure, which looked even more dilapidated in the morning light.

She didn't know what she was waiting for. Maybe she wanted to see if the creature they called an "Imp" would truly turn to dust when the sun rose. Or maybe she just couldn't banish the image of the dead homeless man from her mind, and subconsciously felt she owed him a vigil.

The light grew brighter, minute by minute, and the city's silhouette sharpened against the pale sky. The first bus of the day rumbled past the street corner, its engine a dull roar. A milk truck pulled over, the clinking of glass bottles a crisp, clean sound. The world was waking up, stubbornly trying to erase the night's sins with its mundane routine.

In the end, Anya saw nothing. No police, no unusual activity. The abandoned church, like a great beast that had feasted in the dark and now slept it off, was as silent as if nothing had ever happened.

Dragging her exhausted body, she finally made it back to her small apartment. A sleepless night, combined with extreme mental stress and physical pain, made her feel as though she’d been run over by a truck.

She took a scalding hot shower, the water washing over her body, temporarily numbing the burning pain in her calf. She didn't look at the three claw marks again, simply letting the hot water wash her mind blank along with the grime.

After her shower, she didn't even bother to dry her hair. She just threw on a bathrobe, collapsed face-first onto her bed, and pulled the covers over her head, cocooning herself completely. In the last second before sleep claimed her, the image that flashed through her mind was not the monster’s terrifying maw, nor the vagrant’s horrified face. It was a pair of ice-blue eyes, as deep as arctic glaciers, and a name as cold as the winter air.

Seraphina Valerius.

Anya slept deeply and fitfully. Her dreams were a bizarre, fragmented mess. One moment, she was being chased by countless elongated shadows, running frantically through the city’s sewers; the next, she was in that immense library, being crushed by mountains of books while Seraphina sat atop the highest shelf, looking down on her with those same indifferent, ice-blue eyes.

When she finally startled awake from the chaotic dream, the sun was high in the sky. It sliced through the blinds, striping her room with light.

Anya groaned, feeling like every bone in her body had come loose. She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. The screen read 2:00 PM.

She had slept for nearly ten hours.

There were several missed calls from the manager of the photo studio where she worked part-time, probably chasing her for a deadline. She ignored them for now and opened her news app.

She didn’t have to look far. A headline jumped out at her:

Anya’s heart sank.

She tapped the article and read through it. It stated that the body had been discovered that morning by some teenagers playing near the church. The police had cordoned off the area and a forensics team was on site. The article included a wide-shot photo showing St. Jude’s surrounded by yellow police tape and several patrol cars, the scene grim and official.

The entire report was written to steer the narrative towards an "accident" or "animal attack." It even specifically mentioned recent warnings from the city's wildlife department about large predators like cougars wandering into urban areas from the nearby state park.

"Animal attack?" Anya scoffed, her voice hoarse.

She knew better than anyone that it was no animal. Or rather, no known animal killed like that.

At the end of the article, a police spokesperson urged any citizens who were near the church the previous night to come forward with any information.

Anya tossed her phone aside and rubbed her throbbing temples. Should she go? And what would she say if she did? That she was taking artistic photos in an abandoned church in the middle of the night and saw a creature straight out of a horror movie kill someone?

She could already picture the look on the cops' faces. Great, another nutjob.

As she was wrestling with the thought, her doorbell rang.

Ding-dong.

The sharp, clear sound was jarring in the quiet apartment, making her heart skip a beat.

Who could it be? The studio manager? Her landlord? No, they had her number; they’d call first.

An image of Seraphina's glacial face involuntarily appeared in her mind. Was it her? Was she here with an update already? But it had been less than a day.

To her own surprise, Anya felt a flicker of anticipation, a feeling she couldn't quite explain. She limped to the door and peered through the peephole.

Standing outside were two men in plain clothes.

One older, one younger, both with serious expressions. The older man had graying hair and sharp eyes, his face a roadmap of long years and professional skepticism. The younger one was of Asian descent, with a straight posture and a calm gaze that was methodically scanning her door.

Cops.

Anya's heart leaped into her throat. How had they found her so quickly?

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm. Right now, she was just a resident who lived near a crime scene. Nothing more.

She straightened her slightly messy bathrobe and opened the door.

"Can I help you?" she asked, feigning confusion.

The older cop flashed his badge. "Ma'am, good afternoon. We're with the VCPD. I'm Detective Miller, this is my partner, Detective Chen."

The young detective, Chen, gave her a polite nod.

"We're investigating a homicide at St. Jude's Church," Detective Miller said, getting straight to the point. His hawk-like eyes swept over Anya's face and the room behind her. "We're canvassing the area. I was wondering if you saw or heard anything unusual between midnight and dawn last night?"

Here we go.

A cold sweat broke out on Anya's back, but she maintained a look of appropriate shock and concern. "A homicide? Oh my god, I saw the news. They said… an animal attack?"

"That's the media's take," Miller said tonelessly. "We'd rather hear what you have to say. Any sounds, any strange shadows, anything could help."

Anya looked down, pretending to search her memory. Her mind was racing. Saying she knew nothing would be suspicious. Saying too much would be a minefield of potential slip-ups. She had to give them something that explained her "knowledge" without implicating herself.

"I…" she began hesitantly. "I didn't sleep well last night. Around… maybe two or three in the morning, I think I was woken up by a weird noise."

Miller’s eyes sharpened. "What kind of noise?"

"It's hard to describe," Anya said, choosing her words carefully. "It didn't sound human, but it wasn't a normal animal cry either. It was really… sharp. Kind of like… metal scraping, but with a screeching sound mixed in. I figured it was just alley cats fighting, so I didn't think much of it and went back to sleep."

She had cleverly disguised the Imp's terrifying shriek as something that could be rationally explained.

"That's it?" Miller seemed disappointed.

"Um… yeah." Anya nodded, playing the part of a slightly scared citizen who wanted nothing to do with it.

Detective Chen, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke. His voice was softer than Miller's, but his question was far more pointed. "Ms. Petrova, you're a freelance photographer, is that correct?"

Anya's stomach dropped. "Yes, how did you know?"

"Your neighbors mentioned it. Said you're always coming and going with a camera," Chen said, his gaze casually flicking to the camera bag she’d left on the sofa. "Your particular style seems to lean towards… urban documentary and ruin exploration?"

Anya felt her blood run cold. This young detective had done his homework. He was suggesting she might have been at the crime scene.

"I… I do like shooting old buildings," Anya replied, forcing a calm she didn't feel. "But what does that have to do with the case?"

"St. Jude's Church is a very famous old building," Chen stated calmly, but Anya could feel the pressure beneath the surface. "For a photographer who loves ruins, it would be quite a tempting location, wouldn't you say?"

It was a trap. If she admitted interest, the next question would be why she wasn't there last night.

Her mind spun, and then an idea hit her. She thought of her injury. "Oh, that church," she said, as if just realizing, then gave a rueful smile and pointed to her leg. "I actually did have plans to shoot there. But I had some bad luck the night before last. I missed a step coming down the stairs and twisted my ankle pretty bad. So I've basically been stuck at home for the past couple of days, haven't gone anywhere."

As she spoke, she shifted her weight slightly, wincing as if in pain. The lie had come to her in a flash. The claw marks from the monster were now her perfect alibi.

Miller's gaze fell to her bandaged ankle, and the suspicion in his eyes seemed to lessen. "A sprain? Do you mind if we take a look? We may need a forensics expert to confirm the time of injury."

He was bluffing!

Anya's heart was in her throat, but she put on an offended expression. "Excuse me, officer? What are you implying? Are you suspecting me? I'm just a resident trying to help, and you're interrogating me like a criminal?"

Her reaction was pitch-perfect for an innocent person being wrongly accused.

Miller seemed to realize he'd overstepped, exchanging a look with Chen.

Chen spoke up again, his tone conciliatory. "Ms. Petrova, please don't misunderstand. It's just routine. You understand, we can't afford to overlook any detail. Since your leg is injured, it's unlikely you were out last night. We apologize for the disturbance."

Anya let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, but her nerves were still on high alert. "It's fine, I get it. I hope you find… whatever animal did this."

"We'll do our best," Miller said, turning to leave.

But just as he turned, Detective Chen's sharp eyes caught something. A small, dark smudge on the hem of Anya's bathrobe.

It was a mix of dirt and moss she had picked up while tumbling on the grass outside the church. In her haste to shower, she had completely missed it.

"Ms. Petrova," Chen said, pointing to the stain, his tone casual. "You said you've been staying in because of your ankle, right? That stain looks pretty fresh. Like… dirt from a lawn?"

Anya's back was instantly drenched in cold sweat.

Her mind went completely blank. She had no excuse for this!

I'm screwed.

In that split second of panic, her peripheral vision caught a small succulent plant sitting on the shoe cabinet by the door. She’d bought it a few days ago and hadn’t gotten around to repotting it.

An idea struck her like lightning.

"Oh, this?" she said, looking down at the smudge with a sheepish, annoyed expression. "Damn, I must have gotten it just now when I was watering this little guy. I'm such a klutz."

As she spoke, she walked over to the shoe cabinet, picked up a small spray bottle, and, right in front of the two detectives, gave the succulent another spritz. A few drops of water and dirt inevitably splattered onto her bathrobe, mingling with the original stain.

The performance was seamless.

Detective Chen watched her, then looked at the damp plant. The last trace of suspicion in his eyes finally seemed to fade. He nodded, saying nothing more.

"Well, we won't take up any more of your time, Ms. Petrova. If you remember anything else, please don't hesitate to call." Chen handed her a business card.

Anya took it, forcing a polite smile. "Of course. I will."

The two detectives finally left. When she heard their footsteps fade down the stairs, Anya slammed the door shut and slid down against it, all her strength gone.

She gasped for air, her heart pounding. The last ten minutes had been more terrifying, more draining, than escaping the church.

She looked down at the card in her hand. It read: Detective Chen Yu.

This Chen Yu was sharp. Too sharp. And his instincts were good. He was definitely still suspicious of her. She had to be more careful.

Sitting on the cold floor, Anya felt a profound sense of isolation. She was caught in a horrifying mess. On one side, there was a world of monsters and an unfathomable vampire she couldn't understand. On the other, the police, closing in with their suspicious eyes.

She was trapped in the middle.

She subconsciously pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts, wishing desperately there was someone she could talk to, someone she could ask for help. But as she scanned the names, she found no one.

Then her gaze landed on a contact with no name, just a string of numbers. The number she had given to Seraphina.

Seraphina…

She said she would handle it, right? She said she’d notify me when it was resolved.

Anya stared at the number, her heart a tangled mess of conflict. Part of her was furious at the woman's arrogance and coldness. Another part of her, uncontrollably, was pinning all her hopes on her.

She closed her eyes, and Seraphina's image materialized in her mind.

She remembered the deep blue silk of her gown, glowing softly in the lamplight. She remembered her voice, as cool and melodic as a cello. She remembered her ice-blue eyes, which, though cold, were as pure as gemstones, reflecting everything. She even remembered the touch of her fingertips—that bone-deep chill, and the strange, thrilling tingle that had shot through her…

Anya's cheeks began to burn for no reason.

She shook her head irritably, trying to banish the thoughts. What the hell was she doing, thinking about that stuff at a time like this?

She got up, poured herself a large glass of water, and forced herself to calm down.

All she could do now was wait.

Wait for a call from Seraphina, or… for another "visit" from Detective Chen.

The rest of the day was a long, slow torture. Anya was on edge, checking her phone every few minutes, terrified of missing a call. Every little noise from outside made her jump.

She tried to distract herself with work, opening her laptop to edit some recent photos. But as she looked at the black-and-white shots of urban decay, filled with shadow and loneliness, her thoughts drifted back to that other lonely place—the vast, silent bookstore.

That woman, Seraphina. How many years had she been alone in that library? What did she look like when she was reading? Did she ever smile? Anya couldn't even begin to imagine it. Maybe if she smiled, that eternal glacier would finally c***k, or even melt.

"Stop it, Anya Petrova! Are you losing your mind?" she muttered, tapping her own cheek.

Just then, the doorbell rang again.

Anya flinched, nearly jumping out of her chair. Was it Chen, coming back for another round?

She crept to the door and looked through the peephole.

It was a courier, holding a small, plain black box.

A delivery? She hadn't ordered anything.

Hesitantly, she opened the door.

"Anya Petrova?" the courier asked.

"That's me."

"Package for you. Sign here."

Anya signed for it, puzzled, and took the box. It was light, and cool to the touch. She closed the door and placed it on her table.

She looked it over. There was no sender information. An anonymous package.

Her heart began to pound uncontrollably.

She had a powerful gut feeling.

With trembling hands, she opened the black box.

Inside, nestled on a bed of soft, black velvet, lay a small, white porcelain jar.

The jar was simple, pure white, with no labels or text. The only mark was on the lid: a complex, silver-inlaid sigil that looked like a family crest—an owl with its wings spread, its talons gripping a crescent moon.

Anya's breath caught in her throat.

She recognized that sigil. It was identical to the bronze door knocker at the bookstore.

It was from Seraphina.

She carefully picked up the small jar and twisted open the lid. A clean, crisp scent filled the air—cool and sharp, like pine needles and fresh snow. It was the same scent she had noticed on Seraphina in the bookstore.

Inside was a translucent balm, like solidified moonlight.

Was this… medicine?

A wave of complex, indescribable emotions washed over Anya. Shock, confusion, but mostly… a warmth she was reluctant to admit to herself.

That cold woman, who seemed to have no feelings, who had said this was "none of your business," had actually… remembered her injury. And had sent her this.

There was no phone call, no note, not even a name. She had expressed a sliver of concern, hidden deep beneath the ice, in the most detached, prideful, Seraphina-like way possible.

Anya clutched the small jar, feeling its impossible weight in her hand.

She sat on the edge of her bed and unwrapped her makeshift bandage. After a night's rest, the swelling around the wound hadn't gone down; it had actually worsened, looking angry and red.

She dipped her fingertip into the moonlit balm. It was cool to the touch, reminding her of the temperature of Seraphina's skin.

Slowly, gently, she began to apply it to her wound.

An exquisite, soothing coolness instantly replaced the burning pain, like the first cool rain on parched earth. The sensation seeped into her skin, and she could almost feel the cells in her body, which had been fighting the toxin, let out a collective cheer.

The effect was immediate.

Anya stared at her leg in disbelief. In just a matter of seconds, the angry red swelling began to visibly recede.

This stuff was practically magic.

Anya suddenly felt like laughing. That woman. She spoke the harshest words but performed the gentlest actions. This extreme contrast didn't make her seem hypocritical to Anya. Instead… it felt as if she had just glimpsed a tiny, hidden sliver of truth beneath the massive glacier.

She carefully screwed the lid back on the jar and placed it on her nightstand as if it were a priceless treasure.

Outside, the sky was beginning to darken. The neon lights of Veridian City were beginning their nightly performance.

A new night was coming.

Anya looked out the window. The fear and confusion in her heart seemed to have been lessened by the small, white jar. She knew she was still in danger, but she no longer felt completely alone.

Somewhere in the city, a powerful, mysterious woman was, in her own way, on her side.

Anya's fingers once again brushed the back of her other hand. This time, she didn't try to dismiss the feeling. She let the memory of that cold touch, and the flutter in her own heart, coexist, clear and undeniable.

(End of Chapter）