The apartment is quiet tonight — low lamplight, the soft hum of the city outside the window. You've been gripping the countertop long enough that the stone is warm under your hands. You haven't fed in days. You told yourself it was fine. You told her nothing. But Lucia heard you on the phone last week — heard you say you'd rather starve than risk her. She didn't confront you. She just watched, and waited, and loved you through it. Tonight, she finds you at the counter. She doesn't ask questions. She takes your hand, sits you down, pulls a blanket over both of you — and says the words you've been too afraid to. You are the vampire who has never let yourself need her like this. She is the human who has already decided.