The cell was cold, as always, the stone floor radiating a chill that seeped into Luke's bones. He sat with his back against the wall, his arms resting on his knees, while Jake paced in front of him. Their conversation had turned from idle grumbling to the whispered beginnings of rebellion.

"We can't just keep doing this," Jake said, his voice low but filled with simmering anger. "Every day, we get weaker. And for what? To keep feeding them?"

Luke sighed, his gaze fixed on the faint scratches on the wall—marks left by countless slaves before them. "You think I don't know that? But this place... it's a fortress. We make one wrong move, and we're dead."

Jake stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing. "We're already dead, Luke. Just slower."

Before Luke could respond, the sound of boots echoed down the hallway. The guards were coming. The slaves silently prepared themselves for whatever task was to be thrust upon them next. Luke clenched his fists, his mind still lingering on Jake's words.

The room reeked of sterile alcohol and something faintly metallic—blood, Luke realized, his stomach twisting. Slaves filed into the makeshift medical chamber, each stripped to their bare torsos, sweat glistening on their backs from the suffocating heat of the mansion. The guards loomed close, their eyes glinting with sadistic amusement as the slaves hesitated, the needles glinting ominously on the tray before them.

Luke stepped forward reluctantly, his gaze flicking toward the corner of the room. There, sitting hunched and shivering on a narrow wooden bench, was the pet. Her green eyes darted nervously to each slave as they approached. She was stripped to her undergarments, her delicate shoulders marked with faint bruises and her hair slightly tangled, as though no one had cared enough to smooth it after the day's ordeals.

Luke swallowed hard. She was stunning, even now, even in this place. Her beauty was almost surreal—a cruel reminder of the old world, of times when women like her were seen on television screens and magazines, not dragged through hell. The thin fabric clung to her figure, highlighting every curve. It felt wrong to notice, but he couldn't stop. She wasn't just beautiful; she was a symbol, a shard of the humanity they'd lost.

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The pet caught him staring and flinched.

"Next!" the head slave barked, snapping Luke out of his trance. He stepped forward, pulling off his shirt as the needle pierced his arm. The burn was immediate, sharp, and all too familiar.

When it was the pet's turn, she hesitated. A guard smirked, his fingers twitching toward the whip at his belt. The head slave hissed under his breath, "Don't make a scene."

Luke watched as the green-eyed pet moved to the center of the room, her hands trembling. The needle pressed into her arm, and a small sound escaped her lips. He felt something tighten in his chest. When she was done, she stumbled back to the bench, her hand clutching the sore spot on her arm.

As the guards turned their attention away, she whispered, her voice a ghostly rasp, "Help me."

Luke froze. He knew he should ignore her, should walk away like everyone else, but those eyes—green as summer fields—were impossible to look away from.

"I can't," he whispered back, barely audible.

Her lip quivered, but she nodded, resignation dulling the spark of hope in her gaze.

As he turned to leave, her voice reached him again, quieter this time: "I'll die here. We all will."

———-

The Pet's Perspective

She rubbed the spot on her arm where the needle had gone in, her mind replaying the brief exchange with the slave. His face was sharper in her memory now—calm, stoic, but not empty like the others. There was something there, beneath the surface.

He didn't say he couldn't help me, she thought, clinging to the tiny shred of hope.

Hope was dangerous, but it was all she had. Most pets didn't dare speak to the slaves. The vampires wouldn't allow it; the pets knew their place, and so did the slaves. Yet, she had spoken to him, and he hadn't pushed her away.

What's his name? she wondered. Names were rare in the mansion, replaced with numbers or nothing at all. Yet, she longed to know more about him.

Her thoughts drifted to the other pets. She'd seen one pulled from the dining hall earlier—silent and pale, their neck ringed with fresh bite marks. They wouldn't last long, she knew. The vampires drained them, broke them, then discarded them. Her time would come too, eventually.

But maybe, just maybe, he was her way out.

Later that night, as Luke lay on the cold floor of his cell, he thought of her words. Her face, her eyes—they stayed with him.

He remembered the old world, a distant memory now. He'd been just a boy when it all fell apart, barely ten years old. He could still see flashes of it in his mind: the sunlight on his mother's face, the warmth of his father's laugh, the sense of safety he'd taken for granted. Now, that world felt like a dream, a story someone else had told him

And yet, for a moment, the pet's plea had made him feel something he hadn't felt in years: hope.