The first thing my mother did when she saw us was slap me.
I deserved it.
Probably.
She slapped me again.
“Okay,” I said. “One was fair.”
“That was for leaving.”
The second slap.
“That was for almost sacrificing yourself.”
I rubbed my cheek.
“Also fair.”
She looked at Athena.
Then back at me.
“And that was for making her come after you.”
“I didn't make her—”
Athena raised a hand.
“I absolutely followed them.”
My mother stared at her.
Athena smiled awkwardly.
“Hi.”
My mother sighed.
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“You two are exhausting.”
“I've been told,” I said.
She pulled both of us into a hug.
I froze.
My mother wasn't usually a hugger.
Neither was I.
But I hugged her back.
For the first time in years, there was no fear behind it.
No Hollow.
No secrets.
Just family.
When we finally separated, she looked toward the woods.
“It really is gone?”
Athena nodded.
“Yes.”
My mother closed her eyes.
A long breath escaped her.
“Then maybe we can finally stop running.”
I looked at Athena.
She smiled.
Maybe.
The weeks that followed were strange.
Quiet.
Almost painfully normal.
The police investigation eventually closed.
Detective Vale came by once.
She didn't ask many questions.
She just looked at us and said,
“You're alive.”
Athena nodded.
“That's the general idea.”
Vale almost smiled.
Almost.
“Good.”
Then she left.
Seraphine's pendant was placed in the family archive.
Not hidden.
Not worshipped.
Just remembered.
Her name was written beside the names of the others who had been lost to the Hollow.
Including Thomas.
Including the vampires whose stories had disappeared over centuries.
For the first time, their names belonged to them again.
Not the Hollow.
Not the fear.
Them.
As for me...
I was still a vampire.
Athena was still human.
The world was still complicated.
But the Hollow was gone.
Really gone.
My mother said she could feel the difference.
So could I.
There was no pressure at the back of my mind.
No whisper.
No sense that something was waiting for me to make a mistake.
Just silence.
Good silence.
One evening, Athena and I sat on the roof.
She leaned against me.
“You know,” she said, “you owe me coffee.”
I looked at her.
“I owe you coffee?”
“You drank mine.”
“You hate coffee.”
“I hate bad coffee.”
“You drank half of it.”
“I was emotionally compromised.”
I laughed.
She smiled.
Then she looked at me.
“You're happy.”
It wasn't a question.
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
She rested her head against my shoulder.
“Me too.”
We sat there quietly.
No monsters.
No Hollow.
No voices.
No running.
Just us.
I looked toward the stars.
For years, I had thought surviving meant staying alive.
Now I understood.
Sometimes surviving meant allowing yourself to live.
And I finally was.