Lila wiped down the counter of the Midnight Dine

r, the jazz from the speakeasy next door thumpin

g through the walls like a second heartbeat.

Rain tapped the windows like a secret code.

“Another night, another tipless drunk,” she mutt

ered, spotting the tall figure in the doorway.

He stepped in like he owned the shadows.

Tall, dark trench coat, and eyes that glowed lik

e embers in the dim light.

“Damien Cross,” he said, voice like whiskey and

midnight.

She blinked. “The quarterback?”

He nodded once.

Lila almost dropped the glass. “What’s the NFL’s

golden boy doing in a town that doesn’t even ha

ve a stoplight?”

“I came for you.”

She froze.

“I don’t even know you.”

“You do,” he said. “You just don’t remember.”

His hand brushed hers.

A flash of memory hit—smoke, war, a dance in a b

unker during the Blitz.

“What the hell?” she whispered.

“I’m old, Lila. Older than I look. Older than yo

ur country.”

She backed away.

“Vampire?”

He didn’t deny it.

“You were my nurse in 1943,” he said. “I was sho

t down over Germany. You saved me.”

“I died in that war,” she said. “I was twentytwo

.”

“No,” he said. “You were reborn.”

She stared at him, heart hammering.

“I’m not the same girl from that photo in your l

ocket,” she said.

“You are,” he said. “Every time you come back, I

find you.”

“This is insane.”

Damien smiled. “But it’s true.”

A knock rattled the diner door.

He turned, eyes going red.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“Not a friend.”

The door burst open.

Three men in black suits stormed in.

“Mr. Cross,” one said. “You’re under observation

.”

“Cold War ghosts,” Damien muttered.

Lila grabbed a coffee pot like a weapon.

“Touch him and you’re getting scalded,” she warn

ed.

One of the agents smirked. “She’s the anomaly.”

Damien’s jaw tightened.

“They’ve been tracking reincarnated souls,” he s

aid. “They want her.”

“Like hell,” Lila said.

Damien moved faster than thought, knocking the a

gents down.

“Run,” he told her.

She didn’t.

Instead, she pulled a flask from under the count

er.

“Silver bullets,” she said. “I’ve been waiting f

or something like this my whole life.”

He stared at her.

“You remembered.”

“Bits and pieces,” she said. “Come on, QB. Let’s

go.”

They ran through the alley, jazz still playing n

ext door like nothing was wrong.

The agents followed.

“Why do they want me?” she asked.

“You’re the key,” Damien said. “You can break th

e cycle.”

“What cycle?”

“The one that binds me to this life,” he said. “

And them to power.”

They ducked into the speakeasy.

Smoke and saxophones filled the air.

“Stop!” one agent shouted.

Damien turned, fangs bared.

“You want her?” he growled. “Come through me.”

The agents hesitated.

Lila stepped beside him.

“I’ve died for you once,” she said. “I’ll do it

again.”

“No,” Damien said. “This time, we live.”

The lead agent raised a device.

“It’s over, vampire.”

Then the lights went out.

Gunfire cracked.

Shouts filled the room.

And then silence.

Lila opened her eyes.

Damien stood over the agents, now unconscious.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Now what?”

“We disappear,” he said. “Together.”

She looked at him.

“Forever?”

He smiled.

“If you’ll have me.”

She took his hand.

“I always do.”

Outside, dawn painted the sky.

And for the first time in a hundred years, Lila

felt like she was going home.