The Collective
The room settled into a taut hush, like the whole place was holding its breath. Even the old coffee pot gave up with a final sputtering sigh, its last drip hitting the burner like a heartbeat too late.
Grace stood by the counter, mug in hand. She lifted it to her lips, but paused, her nostrils flared faintly, the scent sharp and burnt. She took a sip anyway.
The bitterness hit her tongue like ash scraped from a chimney. She swallowed out of sheer stubbornness, then set the mug down with care that felt forced.
Nicola leaned against the table, arms crossed. She’d seen that exact expression on a dozen witnesses before the breakdown. “That bad, huh?”
Grace managed a faint, crooked smile. “Not your brewing. Think I just lost my taste for it.”
She turned from the counter, rinsing the mug with slow, deliberate motions. Her movements were too steady, too practiced, like she was pretending to be fine for someone else’s sake. The water ran over her fingers as if trying to cool something beneath the skin.
Then her body betrayed her.
She staggered a half step forward, hand pressing to her abdomen. Not the sharp pinch of hunger, but something deeper, primal, and clawing. A hollow ache that felt ancient and wrong, as though her organs had rearranged themselves in the night.
Nicola straightened instantly. “Grace?”
A sharp pulse fired from Grace’s neck, just below her left ear, the bite. It lit her nerves like a fuse. She gasped, fingers brushing the hot skin there. Her pulse jumped. Her pupils dilated.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, but her voice trembled with the lie.
Her knees buckled again.
Nicola crossed the room fast. She reached out, hand landing lightly on Grace’s arm.
The effect was immediate. Grace jolted like Nicola had pressed a live wire against her skin. Her eyes widened, gone too dark for the dim light, and her breath hitched, not in pain exactly, but in something tangled with it. Alarm. Confusion. Want?
Nicola pulled back fast, hands up. “Okay. You’re alright. Let’s sit, yeah?”
Grace didn’t answer, but she didn’t argue. She let Nicola guide her with a hand hovering near her back. They moved slowly. For Grace it was like she was wading through syrup, or fighting something under her own skin.
Nicola stayed just behind, close enough to catch her if she fell. And god help her, close enough to smell her perfume, sharp and soft and something else. Something heady. She blinked that thought away.
At the table, Grace sat down gingerly, like her joints might shatter if she bent wrong.
Nicola grabbed a clean dish towel, soaked it under the tap, wrung it out with a practiced flick. She brought it back and held it out. “Here. Cold.”
Grace took it and pressed it to her forehead with a grateful, shaky sigh. Her hand trembled. Her breath came short and shallow.
Nicola watched her, mouth tight. Her thoughts wouldn’t stop pacing.
Something was wrong with Grace. Not just shock. Not just trauma. Her skin was warm to the touch but too pale underneath, veins surfacing blue at her temples. And still, despite all that… Nicola wanted to step closer.
She shoved the thought down like a shard of glass. Her phone buzzed on the counter. She checked the screen, Warren.
She stepped away to answer, but not out of sight.
“Yeah.”
Warren’s voice was all business. “No sign of the guy. Got deputies canvassing. The grounds are secure but it’s a damn mess.”
“We’re here,” Nicola said. “We made it.”
“She remember anything else?”
Nicola looked back at Grace. Her face was turned to the side now, the towel pressed tight against her cheek, eyes unfocused. She looked like she was fading.
“Not yet,” Nicola said. “She’s coming down from something. Shock hit her late, I guess.”
“We need something to go on.”
“She needs sleep. A shower. Maybe food. I don’t know yet.”
There was a pause. Warren’s sigh came through staticky and long. “Alright. Keep me posted. Oh and the victim’s file flagged something. I’ll call you when I’ve got more.”
Nicola’s stomach dropped a half-inch, “Thanks.” She hung up and turned back.
Grace was already watching her. Her eyes still looked bruised with exhaustion, but there was something sharp beneath it. Listening. Catching the tail ends of conversations she wasn’t meant to hear.
“Victim’s file,” Grace said. “Does he mean me or Derek?”
Nicola didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know.”
Grace nodded. “Of course.”
She looked down, hands curling in her lap. Her body still shook in tiny aftershocks. “Derek was twenty-one,” she said after a pause. “Smoked weed or cigarettes daily. Tried to write stories that scared people. Used to say grief was the only true ghost story.”
Nicola didn’t interrupt.
She laughed. Once. It died quickly.
Nicola crouched to open the drawer near the fridge. Pulled out evidence bags. Walked them to the table.
Grace’s brows arched. “You keep these in your kitchen?”
Nicola shrugged. “Where else would I keep them?”
Grace stared at the bags like they might bite.
She took them with a nod, and for the first time, really looked around the kitchen. There were exposed rafters, mismatched mugs, the kind of clutter that said someone lived here without needing to explain herself.
“Can I take a shower?” Grace asked again, more softly this time. “Please.”
Nicola nodded. “Yeah. But bag the clothes. Blood, sweat, …marks. All of it’s evidence.”
Grace flinched at the last word. She meant bite marks.
Nicola hesitated. Her gut twisted, not just with unease, but with the feeling that the house had changed the moment Grace stepped inside. It didn’t feel right, not entirely. And worse, it felt right. Like some part of her had been waiting for this intrusion.
She hated it.
“C’mon,” Nicola said. “Bathroom’s upstairs. I’ll grab you some clean clothes.”
They headed for the stairwell. Grace stopped at the base, glanced up the narrow ascent. “You good to make it?” Nicola asked, half-teasing.
Grace smirked. “I should be asking you. You protected me, remember?”
Nicola huffed a laugh. “Right. Truce. We both limp.”
They climbed together, Nicola leading, hand brushing the wall for balance.
Grace followed, evidence bags under one arm. Her eyes drifted lower. She let herself look for just a second. Then looked away, her cheeks coloring.
“You should really put a proper light up here,” she muttered. “This place is one power outage away from summoning the dead.”
Nicola looked back with a half-smile. “Who says I haven’t?”
At the top, she paused, waiting for Grace to catch up. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and full of shadows.
Nicola gestured forward. “This way.”
Grace didn’t move right away.
Nicola turned to her fully, and for a moment, they stood toe-to-toe in the gloom, something thick and unspoken stretching between them. Neither of them stepped closer. Neither of them stepped back.
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