Bound By Sacrifice.

Sweat beaded on Anthony’s forehead, splattering onto the track as he gasped for air, his chest heaving with every breath. His legs were shaking from the weight of the punishment. Leaning on his knees, he tried to catch his breath, the burn in his lungs relentless. The football team had to compensate for last Friday’s loss by running ten laps. As if it wasn’t bad enough, the sun was baking the cracked track beneath him.

He groaned and wiped his face with his hand, wishing he had the energy to wipe away more than just sweat. His hair—messy and long—was getting out of control. His mom had even called it a “crow’s nest” last night, which was a polite way of saying it looked like a mop. He hated that she was always right.

A heavy slap on his back nearly knocked him over. Tylor’s laugh rang out, drowning out the cheers from the cheerleaders on the sideline. Anthony turned around, eyes narrowing, and flipped him off.

“Seriously, you’re a jackass, Tylor,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of his soaked T-shirt.

Tylor, tall and wiry with dark skin, smirked at him as he casually walked backward toward his bag on the dry, brown grass. The field, once green and full of life, was barely holding on thanks to the town’s water restrictions.

“Oh, no!” Tylor clasped a hand to his chest and dramatically cried, “Where’s the love?” He wiped a fake tear away but ducked when Anthony aimed a half-hearted punch at his ribs. “Domestic abuse!” he shouted, drawing a few curious stares from nearby students.

Anthony grabbed his water bottle from the side pouch of his bag, took a big swig, and immediately gagged. Lukewarm. Perfect. “Stop being such a drama queen,” he grumbled, wiping his mouth. “One of us has to be the normal one. And trust me, Alice would drop you if she knew how much of a clown you are.”

Tylor swung at him, and the two of them tumbled to the grass, each trying to pin the other down. It ended with Anthony stuck in a headlock, the stench of Tylor’s sweaty armpit choking him.

“Get off me, you stink,” Anthony gasped, struggling to free himself. “I’m dying here.”

Tylor cackled like a lunatic, his voice loud and free. “Smell my manliness!” he teased, tightening his grip.

But their playful fight was interrupted by a shadow looming over them. Both looked up to see Tylor’s girlfriend standing there, her arms crossed, eyes flashing like she was ready to murder them. She flicked her golden hair over her shoulder and tapped her nails against her hip, making it clear she was not amused.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the air. “You’re almost eighteen, not ten.”

“Hey, Gorgeous,” Tylor jumped to his feet, grinning. But she held him off with a hand to his chest.

“We were just asserting dominance, babe,” Tylor said, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Naturally, I ended up on top.”

Her glare could’ve set him on fire, but Anthony jumped in before Tylor could dig himself deeper. “Yeah, more like a horn dog,” he said, brushing off his PE shorts. “Shouldn’t you be torturing your squad for the next match, Cathy?”

Cathy glanced over at the cheerleaders, then shrugged, looking every bit the student body president she was. “Nah, they know what’ll happen if they screw up.”

She wasn’t the typical “mean girl.” Fierce and demanding, sure, but she didn’t bully anyone. Everyone respected her, including Tylor, who practically worshipped her. And she deserved it—A+ student, editor of the school paper, and always busy with her million responsibilities.

“What happened to Milly?” Anthony asked, noticing her absence among the cheerleaders.

Tylor poked him in the ribs. “You didn’t hear? The Collector Agency took her.”

The words hit Anthony like a punch to the gut. The Collector Agency was a forbidden topic—whispered about in fear, never spoken aloud. They were the reason people disappeared.

Fifty years after humans lost the war to the supernatural races, the Agency was born. It all started when the Whitmore family—an idiot hunter clan—captured and tortured Alucard’s daughter, the Vampire King’s child. In revenge, Alucard unleashed an alliance of supernaturals, sparking a war that ended with millions of human lives lost and the rest of humanity enslaved. It was over 164 years ago, but the scars still cut deep.

Anthony’s entire life had been shaped by the shadows of that war. His town, Evermore, was governed by the Alpha of the Evergleam pack. Anthony’s dad, Steven Wilkus, worked as an accountant for the pack, while his mom, Barbara, was a nurse in the local hospital. His younger sister, Kristy, was eleven and still had that annoying, innocent look. And Vail—his pain-in-the-ass older brother—was always there, making life interesting.

Humans lived under strict laws—no smoking, no drinking, nothing unhealthy. The supernaturals made sure of it. But at least they didn’t ban pizza. Anthony was grateful for small mercies. The truth behind their “healthy” lifestyles wasn’t out of kindness; they wanted humans in peak condition so that if a werewolf needed a replacement limb, they had donors on hand.

“Do you think she’ll come back?” Anthony whispered, his throat tight. The rumors about those taken by the Agency were terrifying.

Tylor shrugged, looking a little too casual about it. “Who knows? She might be dead, chopped up for parts or whatever.”

“Shut up!” Cathy hissed, smacking him on the back of the head. She glanced nervously toward the bleachers where an overseer stood watching them.

Anthony froze. He caught the gaze of Miss Montgomery, the witch who enforced the rules. Her purple eyes locked onto him, and her ruby-red lips twisted into a frown. Anthony twisted his head away from her gaze, feeling the weight of her stare like a physical blow.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, checking his watch. “School’s almost over, anyway.”

“Yeah, time to bail,” Tylor agreed, grabbing his bag. They headed for the gates, each lost in their thoughts.

***

Anthony exited the locker room, running a hand through his damp, black hair. He made his way toward the front doors, each step a little slower than the last from the exhaustion of the day. Without warning, he felt a weight crash into his back.

“Tylor, what the hell?” he grunted, stumbling forward and grabbing a nearby locker to steady himself.

Tylor’s laughter rang out behind him. “You’re too weak to handle my greatness!” he teased, jumping off and landing lightly on the ground. He gave Anthony a playful punch on the shoulder before tossing his car keys in the air. “Let’s get you home before your mom sends out another search party.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “That was years ago. Get over it.”

Tylor grinned mischievously, reminding him of the time when they were thirteen. That night, against Anthony’s better judgment, he’d snuck out with Tylor to swim in the lake during a heatwave. His mom freaked out when she realized he was gone, convinced he’d been snatched by a vampire. The next morning, the search party found them passed out by the lake, and his mom dragged him home by the ear in front of the whole town. For months, Anthony was known as the “mama’s boy,” and the nickname stuck.

Tylor wasn’t letting it go anytime soon. “Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ like it was the funniest thing ever.

Anthony growled under his breath, squinting against the harsh sunlight as they stepped outside. He started walking toward Tylor’s black Jeep, with his friend tagging along, waving and exchanging quick hellos with every person they passed. It was no surprise. Unlike Anthony, Tylor was the life of the party, always surrounded by people.

Just as they reached the Jeep, the rapid clack of high heels echoed behind them. Anthony turned around to see Cathy rushing toward them, her face pale, her hand clutching the front of her pink shirt like it was the only thing holding her together. Her eyes kept darting toward the road as if she was afraid of something following her.

Tylor immediately stepped forward, concern flooding his voice. “What’s wrong, Gorgeous?”

Cathy tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, trying to steady herself. “I saw two Collector Agency cars driving past the school... heading toward our neighborhood.”

An icy shiver ran down Anthony’s spine. His heart skipped a beat as his mind raced. The Collector Agency. He’d heard the rumors. The Agency had a chilling reputation for taking people without warning, their motives always shrouded in mystery and fear.

Anthony’s eyes instinctively scanned the road, watching the passing cars with growing anxiety. Not even a week had passed since Milly Larson disappeared. The thought of her—just a normal girl, snatched away in the dead of night—sent a deep sense of dread through him. He clenched his fist around the straps of his bag, his stomach twisting into knots.

The Agency’s brutality was a well-known fact. To the supernaturals, humans were just disposable resources—nothing more than pawns in their twisted game. And no matter how much you resisted, the laws made sure you followed the rules.

Fear gripped Anthony’s chest, cold and suffocating. What if the Agency had already made its move? What if his family or someone close to him were next? He swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic.

The world outside painted the Agency as some kind of necessary evil—doing the “great work” of serving the community. They even compensated families for the “sacrifice” of losing one of their own. But Anthony knew better. Those families didn’t get much of a choice. The law required one family member to be taken, freeing the family from their obligation—until the next generation came of age. And in the meantime? Humans were raised like livestock for slaughter, bred for a fate they couldn’t escape.

A surge of anger and nausea bubbled up in Anthony’s throat. “I need to get home,” he said urgently, pulling away from the couple. His heart was racing now, the thought of someone close to him being the next target too much to bear.

Tylor nodded solemnly, then gave Cathy a quick kiss before jumping into the driver’s seat of the Jeep. “Hang tight,” he said as he started the engine.

The tires squealed as they sped out of the parking lot, following the trail of the Agency’s cars, the looming uncertainty of what was to come hanging over them.