I still remember the day I found him lying in the clearing, pale as snow, blood staining his white shirt. We were camping in the Forest of Shadows, my family and friends laughing around the fire, roasting marshmallows like nothing could go wrong. But then I heard it—a soft groan, barely audible over the wind.

I followed the sound and saw him: a boy, maybe eighteen, unconscious, his lips blue, veins black beneath translucent skin. Everyone wanted to leave him. 'He might be dangerous,' my father said. But I couldn’t walk away.

We brought him to our tent. I cleaned his wounds with herbs from my mother’s bag. For three days, he didn’t wake. On the fourth, his eyes opened—deep crimson, glowing faintly in the dark. I should’ve been afraid. But all I felt was... connection.

His name is George. He speaks softly, smiles rarely, but watches me like I’m the only light in his world. And slowly, I began to feel the same.

Last night, beneath the stars, he kissed me. His lips were cold, but my heart burned. Then he pulled away, trembling.

'Cela,' he whispered, voice breaking, 'I need to tell you something. Something terrible.'

He took my hand, placed it over his chest.

There was no heartbeat.

'I’m not like you,' he said. 'I’m not human.'

I stared into his eyes, searching for lies. All I saw was pain.

'You saved me,' he said. 'And now I’ve doomed you.'

A rustle came from the trees. Red eyes flickered in the dark—dozens of them.

They’re coming for him.

And for me.