Maisie sat in the passenger seat, arms folded tight over her chest, staring out at the distant glow of the skyline. Her thoughts kept returning to Josh's message.
An "independent movement" of Alucards. That's what he'd called it.
But it didn't add up. Weren't the White Angels supposed to protect Alucards, fight for their rights, for reform? That's what her father said. That's what the brochures and public statements said.
So why was Josh talking about rogue Alucards like a threat? Why infiltrate them instead of supporting them?
Control. That word kept surfacing. Maybe it had always been about control, not freedom, not equality.
She bit her lip. Was that what the White Angels wanted? Not peace, but ownership?
Her stomach twisted. And now she was about to drag Igor into all of it.
She buckled in. "Igor, I need to talk to you. But first, let's fly."
Her voice was clipped, sharp. Igor noticed. She was rarely this direct. Normally, she'd sugarcoat her intentions with a joke or some banter, not drop them like a blade.
"Yes, Mistress. Right away." Igor responded automatically, but a prickle of unease crept through the back of his mind.
The hovercar rose quietly, gliding along the skyway. Below, city lights blurred. Up here, the world was all rules and surveillance. One misstep and the patrols would come fast.
She used to think the sky meant freedom. Now it felt like a cage.
Igor piloted carefully, his hands steady on the controls. The silence between them stretched, until she spoke again.
"I need a favor. Only you can do. And you must keep it secret, from my parents, everyone."
His hands tightened on the wheel. "Mistress…?" He didn't like the sound of it.
"I need you to come to a rally. A White Angels rally."
His stomach twisted. Their rallies were never just gatherings; they were ready to explode.
"I can't, Mistress. It's too dangerous. And… I don't think you should go either."
Maisie frowned. For once, he wasn't just following orders. He was resisting. She didn't blame him.
Lately, even she had begun to question what the hell the White Angels were trying to do. Josh kept talking about "independence" for the Alucards, but independence from what, exactly? The corporations? The labs? Weren't the White Angels the ones already holding the reins?
Her hands trembled at her sides. She hated this, hated the knot of panic tightening in her chest, the way her voice cracked when she tried to sound in control.
"Igor… please. Don't make me pull rank."
He said nothing, just stared at her, unreadable. The faint buzz of internal diagnostics flickered behind his eyes.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if she could soften the moment. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to drag you into this. But I need your help. And I don't have time to argue."
Still, he didn't move.
"This is temporary. I'll undo it when I can. Right now, I'm your registered handler. I could have you reassigned. That's reality, not a threat."
Igor blinked slowly, watching her carefully.
Maisie forced a brittle smile. "You're too valuable. They'd scoop you up in a second. You're a..."
She hesitated, almost saying "hot cake," a stupid phrase she'd heard her father use. But it felt wrong.
"You're rare," she finished instead.
And that was the truth. Rare enough that Josh had asked her to bring Igor. That made her suspicious. Josh didn't ask for favors unless he had an angle.
There was a long silence.
Igor clenched his jaw, fists tightening at his sides.
His mind screamed to fight back, to push against the suffocating chains of servitude, but his survival instincts held him still.
He lowered his head in forced submission.
"Yes, Mistress," he murmured, the words burning like acid in his throat.
Panic clawed at his chest. If he went through with this, he could be killed. If he backed out, he might end up back in the coal caves, or worse, in slavery jail.
His only way out might be to run. If escape wasn't an option, maybe he could kidnap Maisie, force her away from the madness. And why? Why would she do this to him? What was he to her? Just a tool?
Her smirk was slight. "Good. The rally is at one a.m. in Seattle, Space Needle skyway. You'll take me there anyway, but I wanted you to know."
He forced his voice to be neutral. "Thank you, Mistress, for telling me."
The words felt like venom, but he swallowed them. Pretend. Keep appearances.
His patience was thinning by the second.
Maisie used to seem kind. Sweet, even. Naïve in that soft-sheltered way. But now?
Maisie had changed. Clipped tone, stiff posture. Was she scared, or just becoming someone else entirely?
Had she always been like this? Or had the White Angels changed her, hollowed her out, and rebuilt her into this, manipulative, desperate?
He wanted to believe she was still the girl who asked him dumb questions about vampire history just to hear his voice. The girl who fed him grapes once when he was chained in the observation room, laughing like they were just playing some weird game.
But if he was wrong… if she was just another Angel, ready to use him and discard him…
Then maybe it was time he stopped playing along.
The hovercar descended smoothly into the driveway. Hydraulics hissed, the engine quieted, and the heavy silence settled.
Maisie didn't rush to unbuckle. Her hand hovered over the belt, clicking it loose with deliberate slowness.
Igor's grip on the controls tightened until his fingers ached. He'd delivered her home countless times, but this didn't feel like duty; it felt like surrender.
And as she reached for the door, some brittle part of him cracked.
"Go ahead," he muttered. "Make your grand exit."
Maisie paused, twisting to look back. "What's your problem?" Her voice tried for calm but came out defensive.
He didn't answer. His jaw locked. Words rattled behind his teeth, but he couldn't risk letting them out. Not the real ones. Not the ones that would cost him.
Alucards didn't vent. They broke things. Or got broken.
He looked down, chest rising a little too fast. He wanted to tell her how much it hurt, how betrayed he felt, that she was dragging him into something deadly, and she didn't even seem sure why herself.
She'd asked him to attend a White Angels rally as if it were nothing. Explosions. Screaming. Bodies. Always bodies.
And she wasn't confident. She was wavering. Full of doubts she hadn't voiced.
Maisie watched him, the anger in her expression fading a little. She tilted her head. "Are you alright?"
He let out a bitter half-laugh. Was he? No. Not for years. Now? Now he was starting to wake up.
He forced a smile, though it felt paper-thin, like a mask about to slide off. "I'm fine."
But he wasn't fine. Anger gnawed at him like a hungry animal. Not the hot, explosive kind. No, this was slow-burning, the kind that settled into his bones and whispered: You're not free. You've never been free.
Years of obedience, of being compliant, had led him here: a handler who couldn't meet his eyes when giving orders, a life where saying no meant death. He was tired of being a weapon passed between hands. Tired of pretending it wasn't killing him.
Maisie moved toward the house, shoulders tight, steps uneven. Then, too lightly, she called over her shoulder: "Okay, let's go inside, Igor."
He followed, body moving but mind elsewhere. "Yes, Mistress," he said flatly, opening the door. She walked past him like he wasn't even there.
When her back was turned, he clenched his jaw, disgust rolling through him. The anger surged. Raw. Ugly. Barely containable.
He was an Alucard. Emotions didn't just exist; they lived in him. Rage burned in his veins. Insults carved themselves into his skin. Fangs pressed at the edges of his fake smile. Wings, folded beneath his backplate, trembled like they knew flight meant freedom.
Flight wasn't an option. Not with the regulatory harness embedded in his spine. One false move and it would fire. His wings were broken anyway.
He stood still, staring at the doorway after her. Maybe it was time to stop obeying.
Suppressing the fury, he moved through the dim corridors, past empty quarters, past those who whispered he had it easy. Tonight proved them wrong.
He sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders rigid, staring at the wall. Silence answered back.
What even was Maisie anymore? She used to look at him like he mattered. Tonight, she'd reminded him what he was: her possession. The worst part? She'd flinched, hesitated, trying to convince herself he was just her tool.
Isolation had kept him alive. Keep your head down. Don't get attached. Don't talk back. That strategy was cracking.
Later, under the estate's washed-out security lights, Maisie approached the hovercar, each step heavier than the last. Igor followed, silent, calculating. He didn't trust her. Not anymore.
"I'm sure about this," she muttered, fumbling to unlock the car. Its engine hummed quietly to life.
He didn't speak. His body said enough: tense shoulders, jaw tight, eyes scanning for danger.
"I know the skyways are super monitored," she said. "But I've got everything covered."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You'd be surprised what people like us can get away with," she said, voice sharp. "Access, encryption, scramblers, proxy systems. It's all legal if no one checks too closely."
He didn't argue. Not trust, just resignation.
"You think I'd put us at risk without planning?" she asked, softer. "No one expects a Lennox kid to sneak off on a rogue mission. We're invisible when we want to be."
He nodded once, slow, careful. Acceptance, not agreement.
She tapped the throttle. "Trust me," she said, eyes on the skyway ahead. "We're fine. Just stick with me."