??"Headquarters?"

  ?The word hung in the air, oddly corporate for a situation that felt like a fever dream. This guy is really committed to the bit, I thought, eyeing the man who called himself Vaughn.

  ?"You'll see it once we reach there. You can ask then."

  ?I stood up, my legs acting on instinct before my brain could catch up. The room spun for a fraction of a second—not from weakness, but from a strange, terrifying clarity. My mind was racing faster than it ever had before, processing thoughts in high-definition bursts.

  ?"I answered your questions," I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. "Now it’s my turn. How many days have passed since... the accident?"

  ?Vaughn checked his watch—a piece that looked like it cost more than my tuition. "Three days."

  ?"Huh? Three days?"

  ?The timeline didn't make sense. I looked down at myself. I checked my arms, my chest, my legs. I remembered the grille of the truck. I remembered the crunch of bone and the wet heat of my own blood filling my lungs.

  ?But there were no traces of wreckage. No bandages. No lingering pain from the "internal bleeding" or the shattered ribs.

  ?I rushed to the bathroom, gripping the edge of the marble sink. I needed to see it.

  ?The face in the mirror was mine, but... optimized. The dark circles from working double shifts at the delivery center were gone. My skin was flawless—paler than before, yes, like polished alabaster, but unblemished. Even the small scar on my chin from a childhood bike accident had vanished.

  ?I gripped the porcelain sink tighter. Crack.

  ?A spiderweb fracture appeared under my thumb. I pulled my hand back as if burned, staring at the damaged stone. I hadn't even applied pressure.

  ?"The Turning is a process that rewrites biology. It overturns death itself," Vaughn said from the doorway, watching my confusion with a bored expression. He didn't seem surprised by the broken sink. "You were healed in the cocoon. Now, get dressed. We don't have all day."

  ?I turned to him, the fear finally piercing through the shock. "Wait, how do you know this? How do you even know my name in the first place? Who are you people?"

  ?"I already said that I'll tell you once we get back to HQ. Now stop talking and get ready."

  ?His tone brokered no argument. It wasn't just a command; it felt like a physical weight pressing on my shoulders.

  ?He pointed to the closet he had mentioned earlier. Inside, I found a set of clothes that looked disturbingly tailored: a dark button-down shirt, black trousers, and leather shoes. I ran my fingers over the fabric—silk and high-grade wool.

  ?I put them on quickly, unnerved by how perfectly they fit. The shirt hugged my shoulders as if it had been stitched on my body. The trousers had zero slack. It was a second skin, expensive and restricting.

  ?When I came back out, Vaughn pointed to the table. "Is this yours?"

  ?It was my phone. The screen was miraculously intact, sitting right next to a room service bill that had already been settled. I grabbed the phone, the familiar cold glass feeling like the only anchor I had left to my old, miserable life.

  ?No battery. Of course.

  ?"Now," Vaughn commanded, turning toward the door. "Let's go."

  ?The walk to the lobby was a blur. The hotel was eerily quiet, or maybe I was just too focused on the rhythmic thump-thump sound I couldn't identify. It was like a distant bass drum, echoing from the cleaning lady in the hall, from the receptionist behind the desk.

  ?Heartbeats, I realized with a jolt. It was almost like I could hear their hearts.

  ?The lobby was cool and dim, a sanctuary of artificial air. But the moment we stepped through the revolving glass doors and onto the sidewalk, the world changed.

  ?The sunlight hit me like a physical blow.

  ?It didn’t feel like a warm morning sun; it felt like a thousand needles made of white heat were pricking my skin simultaneously.

  ?"Gah!" I hissed, instinctively raising a hand to shield my eyes.

  ?The light was too loud. The reflections from the skyscraper windows were blinding flares. The heat wasn't burning me—not like in the movies where vampires burst into flames—but it was an intense, crawling itch that burrowed under my flesh. It felt like my blood was boiling just beneath the surface.

  ?It made me want to tear the expensive shirt right off my body and dive into a sewer. Anywhere dark. Anywhere cold.

  ?Vaughn, walking beside me with the steady gait of a man who owned the pavement, let out a low, approving grunt. He glanced at me through his dark sunglasses.

  ?"You’re holding up well for your first day," he remarked, his tone gravelly. "Most Newborns are screaming for a cellar by the time they hit the curb. You’re putting up a decent fight against the sun."

  ?I didn't answer. I couldn't. I was too busy trying not to claw my own skin off. My eyes watered, reducing the busy New York street to a smear of gray and yellow.

  ?A sleek, charcoal-black Mercedes sedan sat idling at the curb like a resting panther. The engine purred with a low vibration that I could feel in the soles of my feet. Vaughn opened the rear door, gesturing for me to get in.

  ?I practically dove inside.

  ?The door clicked shut, sealing us in. The interior was blissfully dark, the heavy tinted windows blocking out the angry sun. I gasped for air, the burning itch slowly fading into a dull throb.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  ?The air inside smelled of conditioned leather, expensive tobacco, and something else... something faint and metallic. Like old copper coins. Or dried blood.

  ?As the car pulled smoothly into the Midtown traffic, I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the pedestrians blur past. They looked so fragile. So slow.

  ?My mind was racing, performing a frantic situation assessment.

  ?Vampires? A cocoon? Heartbeats?

  ?Part of me wanted to believe him. My body felt different—stronger, pain-free, humming with that eerie sensation I’ve had since waking up."

  ?But the rational part of my brain—the part that had survived two years of NYU and New York's cutthroat streets—refused to buy it.

  ?This isn't a supernatural awakening, I told myself, gripping the leather armrest until it creaked. This is a kidnapping.

  ?Maybe Vaughn was part of a high-end cult that used hallucinogens. Maybe the "accident" was staged. Or maybe I was being groomed for some dark web organ trade, and these "upgrades" were just pumped-up steroids to keep the merchandise fresh.

  ?Either way, I couldn't go to their "HQ." Once I was behind those walls, I'd be a ghost for real this time. No records, no body, just another missing person poster on a subway wall.

  ?I need out, I thought, looking at the door handle. Now.

  ?I watched the street signs blur past. We were heading toward the outskirts, away from the familiar safety of the crowds. Every mile put more distance between me and the only life I knew.

  ?I need a distraction, I thought. Something simple. Something gross.

  ?I needed to leverage the one thing Vaughn seemed to care about: his impeccable aesthetic.

  ?”Hey,” I groaned, manipulating my throat muscles to make my voice sound strained and wet.

  ?Vaughn didn't look away from the road. "?"

  ?”I... I think the 'transformation' or whatever is hitting my stomach," I lied, clutching my gut and forcing a grimace of agony onto my face.

  “I need a bathroom. Now. Or you’re going to have to explain to whoever owns this car why the Italian leather back here is ruined."

  ?Vaughn let out a sigh of pure, unadulterated annoyance. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as he checked the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing behind the shades. He looked at me—scanning for a lie—but I leaned into the act, doubling over.

  ?"Fine," he hissed, swerving the expensive sedan into the right lane. "There's a gas station two blocks up. Five minutes. If you’re not back by the time I finish my cigarette, I’m coming in to drag you out."

  ?I nodded weakly, keeping up the act as the neon sign of a gas station appeared in the distance. It was a grimy, flickering beacon of hope.

  ?Five minutes, I thought, my pulse failing to race but my mind sprinting. That's more than enough time for a ghost to disappear.

  ?As the car came to a halt, I stumbled out, giving one last pathetic glance toward the driver's seat. Vaughn stayed inside, nose wrinkled, likely disgusted by the mere idea of bodily functions.

  ?My acting had worked.

  ?Now, I just had to run.

  ?I slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it. The moment the latch clicked, I dropped the act. I stood straight, my "nausea" vanishing instantly.

  ?The room was a cramped, neon-lit box that smelled of industrial bleach and rust. I ignored the filth and scanned for an exit.

  ?There.

  ?A small, rectangular window above the toilet. It was swung wide open, the cold New York wind whistling through the gap. I climbed onto the toilet seat. It was a tight squeeze—barely enough for a child, let alone a grown man in a tailored suit.

  ?But it didn't stop me.

  ?I pushed my head and shoulders through. The frame scraped against my back, but my bones... they felt pliable. My joints shifted with a sickeningly fluid ease, compressing just enough to let me slide through. A sharp piece of the metal frame snagged my jacket, ripping a thread, but I didn't stop. I kicked off the wall and landed in the alley behind the station.

  ?I landed silently. No thud. No shock to my knees. Just a soft tap of leather on asphalt.

  ?I'm out.

  ***

  ?Vaughn leaned back against the headrest of the Mercedes, the embers of his cigarette glowing like a singular red eye in the dim cabin. He watched the digital clock on the dashboard.

  ?5:01.

  ?5:02.

  ?He exhaled a cloud of gray smoke, his gaze fixed on the graffiti-covered door. He didn't move. He didn't rush. To a man who had lived for centuries, five minutes was less than a blink. But for a Newborn like Kang Eun-Woo, five minutes was a lifetime of bad decisions waiting to happen.

  ?"Stubborn kid," Vaughn grumbled, finally opening the door.

  ?He didn't walk; he glided across the asphalt. His presence was heavy enough to make the stray dogs near the dumpsters whimper and retreat into the shadows. He reached the bathroom door and gave it a sharp, rhythmic knock—the same one he had used at the penthouse.

  ?"Hey. Time's up," Vaughn’s voice rumbled through the thin wood. "Come out. Whatever you’re holding, hold it until we reach the District."

  ?Silence.

  ?Vaughn narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses. He focused his senses, reaching out with the invisible tether that connected all of their kind. A vampire’s blood-signature was usually like a lighthouse in a dark sea—bright, pulsating, and impossible to ignore. Especially for a Newborn who hadn't learned to mask it.

  ?But inside that room... the signature was fading.

  ?It wasn't just quiet; it was vanishing. Becoming a mere whisper, a lingering scent of copper and old rain.

  ?What the...?

  ?Without a second's hesitation, Vaughn slammed his shoulder against the door. The cheap lock snapped like a dry twig, and the door swung open.

  ?Empty.

  ?Vaughn’s gaze immediately locked onto the window. He stepped into the small space, looking at the jagged piece of the frame where a single, dark thread from the expensive suit fluttered in the wind.

  ?A grim, predatory smile touched Vaughn’s lips.

  ?It wasn't anger—it was intrigue.

  ?Most Newborns spent their first few hours crying, starving, or burning in the sun. This one? This one was already playing hide-and-seek with an Enforcer. And more disturbingly... he had instinctively masked his presence. He had suppressed his own signal.

  ?"You really think you can disappear in this city, Kang Eun-Woo?" Vaughn whispered to the empty room, the thrill of the hunt sparking in his dead eyes.

  ?"Let's see how far you can run."

  ***

  ?Huff. Huff. Huff.

  ?I was running.

  ?No, that wasn't the right word for it. I was launching myself forward. My legs felt like high-tension springs, and every time my feet touched the pavement, the world blurred into streaks of gray and neon.

  ?I checked a reflection in a shop window as I blurred past. The suit. It was too conspicuous. A tailored black suit in this neighborhood screamed "mobster" or "fed."

  ?I spotted a vintage clothing rack on the sidewalk ahead. Without breaking my stride, I veered toward it. My hand moved faster than my eyes could track. I snagged a heavy, dark overcoat, tossing a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from my pocket into the air in its wake.

  ?I swung the coat on as I ran, the heavy fabric billowing behind me like a cape before settling on my shoulders.

  ?Good, I thought. Now I’m just another homeless guy in a coat. Just another ghost in New York.

  ?But... it didn't feel as exhilarating as it should have.

  ?Despite the wind whipping past my ears and the ground vanishing beneath me, the sensation was dull. My chest was heaving, my mouth was panting—Huff, Huff—but there was no burning in my lungs. There was no frantic thudding in my heart.

  ?My body was mimicking the exhaustion I expected to feel, but the tank wasn't emptying. There was only the cold, mechanical realization of my own velocity. I was a machine made of meat and bone.

  ?I need to stop, I thought, skidding to a halt near a dark alley entrance. I need to take a break before my body remembers it's supposed to be tired.

  ?Besides, I doubted that guy could actually track me at this speed. I’d created at least a three-minute gap. Even a monster like him couldn't possibly—

  ?I turned the corner into the alley and slammed into a solid wall of fabric and muscle.

  ?THUD.

  ?The impact was like hitting a concrete pillar. I bounced back, stumbling.

  ?"I'm sorry, I'm in a hurry, so I—"

  ?The apology died in my throat. I looked up, and my eyes widened in a mix of pure fear and visceral shock.

  ?Leaning against the brick wall, hands casually tucked into his pockets, not a hair out of place.

  ?"Going somewhere?"

  ?The deep baritone rumbled through my chest. I looked up. A mountain of muscle in a charcoal suit loomed over me, blocking the exit.

  ?It was Vaughn.