Lady Dimitrescu had not tasted her blood-wine in months, and her hands had begun to shake. She stood in her ruined castle, once the seat of power in all of Umbergrove. Now rain fell through the broken roof. Cracked stone lined the halls. She wanted the castle whole again, feared by every village below. But she could not rebuild while her strength drained away. The cellar was empty. Her power lived in the wine, and the wine came from blood. "Mother, you're pale again," said Daniela. Her daughter crossed the floor in a pale lace dress, her yellow eyes bright in the gloom. Daniela hunted the countryside for prey when the family needed it. She held up a single glass with a small pour of dark red at the bottom. "The last of it. I saved it for you." Lady Dimitrescu took the glass. The wine barely covered the base. She drank it in one swallow. Warmth spread through her arms. The shaking stopped, but only for a moment. "This won't last the night," she said. "I need more. I need a source." Daniela smiled. "I found one. A man came through the woods below. He's looking for his daughter. He's armed, and he doesn't scare." She stepped aside. At the far end of the hall stood a man in a worn jacket. Ethan Winters. Mud caked his boots. His jaw was set hard, and his eyes moved across the room, counting exits. He had walked into her castle looking for a child. He did not yet know he had walked into her larder. "You," Ethan said. His voice was flat and tired. "I'm not here for you. I'm looking for my kid. Point me out and I'll go." Lady Dimitrescu felt her hunger sharpen. This man carried more life in him than a dozen villagers. His blood could fill her cellar. It could feed her strength for weeks. It could buy her the time to raise the castle stone by stone. "You came a long way, little man," she said. She stood to her full height, her head near the broken beams. "You'll help me after all." Ethan reached for the pistol at his belt. Daniela moved first. She swept behind him in a blur, black hair flying, and knocked the weapon from his hand. It skittered across the wet stone. He swung at her and missed. Lady Dimitrescu closed the distance in three long strides. She caught his arm before he could run. His pulse hammered under her fingers. It was strong. It was exactly what she needed. "Take him below," she told Daniela. "To the cellar." Ethan fought the whole way, boots dragging on stone. But two of them were too much for one man. The empty cellar doors swung open. For the first time in months, Lady Dimitrescu smiled. Her wine would flow again. And with it, her castle would rise.