Victor was slumped on the sofa like someone who had finally found a moment of silence after a day that had clearly gone way beyond acceptable limits. His body still carried the fatigue from the workout, but that wasn’t what occupied his mind at that moment. His gaze was lost somewhere ahead, unfocused, as he tried to organize thoughts that simply wouldn’t align properly.

Carmilla.

Scarlett.

Where the hell were those two?

The last time he’d seen either of them already seemed too long ago considering everything that had happened since then. It wasn’t exactly desperate worry, but it wasn’t something he could completely ignore either. Within that chaotic scenario, full of variables he was barely beginning to understand, the lack of information was a problem in itself.

He exhaled slowly, resting his elbow on the arm of the sofa and running a hand over his face for a moment, as if that would be enough to organize his thoughts.

It wasn’t.

Especially because there was an additional detail that didn’t help at all.

Rakshasa. She sat on his lap.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Her weight wasn’t exactly a physical problem, but the constant presence, the contact, the closeness... that was a completely different story. She was too comfortable, nestled against him without any sign of intending to leave anytime soon. One of her arms rested casually around his neck, while her body remained fitted as if that were, in fact, her place.

And the worst part—

She seemed completely oblivious to any tension in the room.

Or she pretended very well.

Victor looked away for a moment, staring at the top of her head, clearly considering pushing, removing, doing anything to solve the problem. But after everything he had tried before, and the recent history, he simply gave up before even starting.

"...I’ll pretend this is temporary," he murmured softly, more to himself than to her.

Rakshasa didn’t answer.

It didn’t move.

It did move.

In fact, it adjusted slightly, fitting better against him, as if it had heard and decided to completely ignore any intention of change.

That elicited a small sigh from him.

On the other side of the room, the scene was more controlled.

Serafall stood, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the other sofa where Natasha lay. Unlike before, there was now a clear stability in her body. Her breathing was regular, her face more relaxed, without that overstimulation that had dominated everything minutes before.

Still, no one there completely trusted that it was over.

Charlotte was beside her, seated in a chair pulled close, completely focused on observation. Small instruments were arranged around her, some improvised, others clearly brought by her. Her attention was not superficial. Every detail was being recorded, analyzed, mentally compared with what she already knew.

Victor looked in that direction for a few seconds before finally breaking the silence.

"Okay," she began, her voice calmer now, but still heavy with weariness, "who are these two again?"

Serafall didn’t look away immediately, as if she were finishing confirming something before answering. After a second, she turned her face slightly toward him.

"I already explained," she said, but without any real irritation in her tone.

Victor raised an eyebrow.

"Explain again," he replied simply. "A lot has happened."

Serafall let out a small sigh, slowly uncrossing her arms as she organized her words.

"The one who’s sleeping," she began, tilting her head slightly toward Natasha, "is Natasha. An old friend."

She paused briefly, as if assessing whether she should elaborate.

"A really old friend," she added. "The kind you don’t find easily."

Victor looked at Natasha again, this time with a little more attention, as if trying to fit that information into the image he had of her until now. She didn’t exactly seem like someone... stable. But considering everything she’d already seen, that didn’t mean much either.

"And the other one?" she asked, now looking at Charlotte.

Serafall followed her gaze.

"Charlotte," she replied. "Doctor. Vampire. And not just any vampire."

Charlotte didn’t immediately look up, but a small smile appeared at the corner of her lips.

"Renowned," Serafall added, with a slight hint of irony. "In the sense that if someone can solve something that no one else can, it’s usually her."

Victor let out a small, thoughtful "hm," absorbing the information while observing Charlotte for a few more seconds. Her posture, the way she analyzed Natasha, her absolute focus... it all matched what was being said.

"Okay," he said after a while. "That makes sense."

Silence returned for a few seconds, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was more... reflective.

Victor then turned his gaze to Natasha.

And the question came.

Direct.

"And what happens to her?" he asked.

Serafall frowned slightly.

"What do you mean?" she replied.

Victor rested his head slightly back on the sofa, still looking in Natasha’s direction.

"If she can only drink my blood," he explained. "What happens to her?"

The question hung in the air.

Heavy.

Because, unlike before, now it wasn’t just a strange situation. It was a real problem.

Charlotte was the first to react this time. She slowly lifted her gaze from Natasha to Victor, her eyes now analyzing him in a different way, more calculating, more direct.

"If it’s permanent," she began bluntly, "then her body will reject any other source."

Serafall crossed her arms again.

"That is to say," Charlotte continued, "she becomes exclusively dependent on you."

Victor was silent for a second.

"Dependent how?" he asked.

Charlotte tilted her head slightly.

"Totally," she replied. "Without a functional substitute."

Rakshasa, still in his lap, made a small movement, as if that information had captured some of her attention, even if she didn’t show it directly.

Serafall didn’t seem satisfied with that.

"That’s not exactly... practical," she murmured.

Charlotte let out a small sigh.

"It’s not meant to be," she said. "His blood isn’t functioning as normal nutrition. It’s functioning as biological dominance."

Victor frowned slightly.

"Domination?" he repeated.

Charlotte nodded.

"Her body was rewritten at a cellular level to respond to his blood as an absolute priority," he explained. "That’s not compatibility. It’s imposition."

Silence returned.

This time heavier.

Victor looked at his own arm for a moment, as if that would help him understand the situation better.

"So she becomes... what exactly?" he asked.

Charlotte took a second to answer.

"Something between biologically dependent and biologically subordinate," she said directly.

Serafall closed her eyes for a moment.

"It only gets better," she murmured, clearly irritated.

Victor let out a small, humorless laugh.

"Great," he said. "So on top of everything else, now I’m a walking food source."

Rakshasa finally spoke.

"I don’t see a problem," he said, in a completely natural tone.

Victor looked at her.

"Of course you don’t see," he replied dryly.

She shrugged, as if it were irrelevant.

"If she depends on you, then she won’t attack you," she continued. "It’s simple."

Charlotte tilted her head slightly.

"Not necessarily," she corrected. "Dependence doesn’t eliminate aggressive behavior. It only directs it."

Victor sighed.

"Perfect," he murmured. "So I have a potentially unstable vampire who can only drink my blood and can decide to attack me depending on her mood."

Serafall opened her eyes again.

"To sum it up very badly... yes," she said.

Victor was silent for a few seconds.

Thinking.

Processing.

And then he looked at Natasha again.

"...This is going to be a problem," he concluded.

Charlotte didn’t disagree.

"It already is," she replied simply.

Rakshasa, still nestled against him, gave a small smile. "I still find it interesting," he said, as if he were watching it all for entertainment. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Victor let his head fall slightly back, staring at the ceiling.

"Of course you do," he murmured.

And, for the first time in a few minutes—

He really didn’t have an immediate solution for it.