Melinda stood frozen, like a marble statue, her gaze locked on the pool of blood surrounding the lifeless man’s head. The thick red liquid oozed slowly, staining the wooden floor beneath him. A wave of terror rippled through her, tightening her chest as she realized this man had been alive just minutes ago. She shivered, unable to shake the gnawing guilt crawling into her mind. *Had she pushed him?* The thought haunted her, but no—she remembered. She had let go of his hand long before they had even reached the stairs. Still, her body trembled uncontrollably, unable to reconcile the horror before her.

  “We're your witnesses,” a voice spoke from the shadows, causing her to jump. She hadn’t even noticed anyone nearby, much less two people standing beside her.

  She turned to face them—a man and a woman, their figures emerging from the gloom. The woman’s voice followed, soft but resolute. “Yes, we saw you. You didn’t push him.”

  The woman’s beauty was almost severe, her striking features softened only by a curious warmth in her tone. She had an air of confidence, as though she walked the world with ease and certainty.

  “You… you did?” Melinda stammered, barely able to form the words. At twenty-five, she had attended funerals and heard whispers of death, but never had she stood so close to a lifeless body.

  “Mm.” The blonde nodded, her golden hair glinting in the dim light. “Now, we need to—"

  “Oh my God! Someone has *died!*” The woman's sentence was cut short by a shrill voice.

  Melinda and her unexpected companions turned their gaze downward, to the foot of the stairs where a man stood gawking up at them. His eyes widened in horror as they landed on Melinda. “It’s her! She killed him!” he cried, his voice trembling with accusation.

  It was, of course, the natural conclusion. From where the man stood, the scene was damning: Melinda at the top of the stairs, and the unfortunate soul crumpled at the bottom. She might as well have been caught with blood on her hands.

  “She didn’t do it!” The blonde woman stepped forward, her voice clear and commanding, standing beside Melinda like a knight in shining armor. “We *saw* it happen. He slipped—he fell on his own.”

  Below, people had begun gathering around the body. Even the bartender, with his grizzled features and grim expression, approached. He glanced up at Melinda, and though concern clouded his face, there was no accusation in his eyes. He didn’t believe she had done it.

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  “We should call the police!” The man at the foot of the stairs cried out again, this time louder, as if hoping to rouse the surrounding crowd into action. Melinda’s stomach twisted into a knot. If the police were involved, she feared the worst. How could they possibly believe she wasn’t guilty?

  “You need to leave,” the blonde whispered urgently, leaning closer. “They’ll call the councilmen, and they won’t be kind. You need to go *now*.”

  “But… that will look *so* suspicious,” Melinda stammered, the fear rising in her throat. She wasn’t usually one to falter, but the sight of the dead man had shaken her deeply. Even when her grandmother passed, she hadn’t seen the body—she couldn’t bring herself to.

  The blonde exchanged a glance with her male companion, her eyes gleaming with determination. “We should leave with her. They’ll think she’s guilty if we sneak away.”

  Her companion sighed, thinking it over. “We can’t sneak off. That’ll only make them more suspicious.” His voice was practical, though a hint of reluctance edged it. The blonde rolled her eyes as though she had already anticipated his objection.

  The bartender approached them, his brows furrowed with worry. “Are you all right, Mel?” he asked gently, his voice a low rumble.

  Melinda nodded, unable to speak. Words failed her.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, his eyes flicking toward the gathering crowd below. “Come on.” With that, he led them down the stairs, carefully avoiding any unwanted attention. No one seemed to notice their quiet departure—the loud man had fortunately gone off, likely to relieve himself in the alleyway.

  Once outside, standing in the cool night air, Melinda turned to the trio who had helped her escape. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft, as though speaking too loudly might summon the chaos back upon her.

  “No need for thanks,” the bartender said with a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll see you later.” He gave her a nod before turning back toward the tavern, no doubt to deal with the mess they had left behind. His boss would surely be frantic.

  The blonde woman looked at Melinda with an almost motherly concern. “Do you need a ride? We can take you wherever you need to go.”

  Dressed provocatively, her attire might have given off the wrong impression to some, but her demeanor was anything but crude. There was a kindness in her offer, a sincerity that made Melinda trust her, if only for a moment. Yet, the weight of the night’s events pressed heavily on her.

  “I’ll be fine,” Melinda managed, forcing a small, strained smile. “Thank you for tonight.” She bowed her head slightly before turning to leave, her steps heavy but determined. She didn’t look back to see if they were still watching.

  Had it been any other night, she would have taken a carriage home. But tonight wasn’t any other night. Tonight, someone had died, and no matter how many times she reminded herself that she didn’t push him, the fear still gnawed at her.

  “You killed him,” a whisper echoed in her mind, the voice cold and slithering like a serpent in the dark.

  *No*, she told herself firmly, shaking her head. *I didn’t do it.* She pressed her hands to her ears as though that could block out the guilt creeping in, though she knew it was futile. The walk home felt longer than usual, each step weighed down by the memories of the night.

  It wasn’t just an accident. Deep down, Melinda knew—*he* had done it. He had killed George because he didn’t want her to be with him. Just like the vampire who had vanished the day after their encounter, George had been taken. She shivered, wondering how long the bartender would last.

  “You ended a man’s life,” the whisper taunted again, chilling her to the bone.

  She had done many things she wasn’t proud of growing up—stolen money from her parents, sabotaged a classmate’s project to win first place. But nothing compared to watching someone die.