"A vampire?" The word hung in the newsroom like a bad smell -- ridiculous, sticky, and impossible to ignore. Marin Cross didn't look up from her monitor. She kept typing, polishing a sentence that accused a city councilman of bribery with the same calm precision she'd use to wipe blood off a knife. Across the bullpen, her editor stood with a police scanner in one hand and a Starbucks in the other. "Five dead. All within ten days. All bloodless." He raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Cross. It's got teeth." Marin finally looked up. "So does a coked-out pit bull." "Don't dismiss it yet." He tossed a manila folder onto her desk. Inside: crime scene photos. Blurred, grainy, still warm with horror. Pale corpses, open mouths, neck wounds like surgical incisions. The kind of thing that made stomachs turn and clicks pour in. "The cops say it's some ritualistic freak," he said. "But the internet? Full-blown Dracula panic. You're the skeptic. That's your angle." She closed the folder. "I write facts. Not fanfiction." "Exactly. So go prove it's bullshit. Expose the real monster." He leaned in. "That's your thing, isn't it? Killing myths." He walked off. She stared at the folder....
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