The gray predawn streets were mostly empty, except for jeeps of uniformed men driving grimly through the smoke. Three hours ago martial law had been imposed at last, and already the soldiers had fallen under the city’s spell: an urge to scurry from one safe place to another, a willingness to blind themselves to everything in between. No patrols stopped the vampire. None even glanced in his direction... not because he had invoked some supernatural concealment but because the patrols had become their own islands of consciousness, turned inward and brooding.

Unchallenged, Rogasz made his way to the bus shelter. He walked with a limp; for some reason, he’d never removed the knife from his thigh. The Adversary was once more leaning in the shelter’s doorway, his face smudged with soot. “Busy night, little brother,” he said.

“I went looking for God, but I haven’t changed,” the vampire replied. “People die and I have no grief.”

“You can’t mourn for everyone.” The Adversary shrugged. “Only heaven has enough tears for that.”

“But I want to feel something. I want to be moved. Moved! Pushed away from wherever I am and over the line.”

“What line?”

“The dawn,” Rogasz said. “Over the edge of dawn into the light.”

“The sun rises every day, little brother. Don’t blame me if you decide to hide from it.”

“But it will kill me.”

“There, you’ve seen through my plan.” The Adversary laughed. “All this time, I’ve been secretly tempting you to suicide. That’s a big bad mortal sin.” His face abruptly turned grim and he looked at Rogasz in disgust. “Do you think redemption is free? Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“But I tried — “

“Listen,” the Adversary snapped, “whatever price you’ve always avoided paying, that’s precisely what it costs. Understand? If you want things to be different, you have to let go of the thing you’re trying to keep the same. Simple logic.”