The Black Inheritance: The Vestalis Game

"How cute"

"Thank you for this adorable prey."

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Rain, rain, rain.

Another rainy day at the orphanage. That was all Angela could think about as she pressed her forehead lightly against the cold windowpane. It had been nearly five years since she arrived here. Angela was now eight years old—the eldest of the orphans, but still without a family.

She had long stopped hoping for adoption. No one wanted Angela. Not when she looked more like a four-year-old, her tiny frame the result of years of neglect and malnutrition.

"Come now, children. We have a guest today. Line up," the Director called out.

Another visitor. Another goodbye. Angela sighed quietly and joined the line like the others. Sixteen children stood in a neat row, their backs straight and faces hopeful, or at least trying to be.

Today's visitors were the Vastalis, a famously wealthy family from San Francisco. Rumor had it they were searching for a child to help "calm" their unruly twins. Angela thought the idea was ridiculous. Who would willingly go with them?

The sound of an expensive car rolling to a stop sent a chill down Angela's spine. She couldn't explain it, but something about this visit felt different.

Then they entered.

The couple that stepped into the room were unlike anyone Angela had ever seen. The man was tall and striking, like the shadowy figure from a child's nightmare book, all sharp features and unsettling calm. The woman beside him was ethereal, impossibly beautiful, but no less intimidating. They radiated the kind of presence that made people freeze. Predators among lambs.

As they walked past the row of children, the room shifted. One by one, the younger kids began to cry, some quietly, some openly sobbing. All except Angela.

The couple stopped.

Right in front of her.

"Well, this one doesn't cry. How... surprising," Julius Vastalis said with a faint, amused chuckle.

"Indeed. What's your name, child?" Marilyn Vastalis asked, her eyes sharp but curious.

"Angela..." she replied softly, staring up at the towering figures with weary eyes.

"Angela! Full sentence!" snapped the Director, smacking the back of her head.

Angela flinched, lowering her gaze. "My name is Angela," she whispered, her voice barely steady.

"What a sweet little angel, don't you think, darling?" Julius said to his wife, his tone laced with something unplaceable. Then, turning to the Director, he added coldly, "Though I must say, is this how you discipline children here, Mr. Woods?"

A shiver ran through Angela's spine. The atmosphere thickened, so cold it made her tremble. She didn't dare look up again.

"Darling, you're frightening our little angel," Marilyn said gently, touching her husband's arm. "Mr. Woods, we'd like to speak with you in private. Children, you may return to your regular activities."

The office door clicked shut behind Angela.

She wandered to the front yard, sitting on the damp stone steps as the rain slowed to a mist. A moment later, a loud thud echoed from the Director's room, sharp and heavy—something falling. Or someone.

Angela turned instinctively. Her heart stilled.

The Vestalis couple stepped out of the office, calm as ever. But behind them, sprawled across the floor, was the Director—motionless, a growing pool of red beneath his head. Blood. Too much blood.