I take a seat near the end of the table. Not at his right hand. Not claiming authority I haven't earned. Just present. Included.
The room notices.
Ethan glances at me, then away too quickly. Victor's eyebrows rise a fraction of an inch. Julian studies his tablet with sudden, intense focus.
"Now that everyone's here." Maximus's voice cuts through the tension, low and commanding, the kind of voice that makes you want to lean closer even when you're trying to keep your distance. "Let's discuss our response."
He runs through what they know. Timeline of the attack. Damage assessment. Resources lost. His voice is controlled, precise, carrying the weight of centuries of command. This is who he is with them. The strategist. The leader. The vampire who built an empire out of blood and careful planning.
I force myself to focus on the maps instead of the way his hands move when he gestures. Long fingers, elegant but strong. The kind of hands that could snap a neck or cradle a face with equal ease. I'd felt them on my back when he carried me throughthe compound that first night. Cool and steady and impossibly gentle.
I look away.
"Konstantin hit the depot at 2:47 a.m.,” Julian reports. "Incendiary devices, professionally placed. Staff evacuated with three minutes to spare, but we lost the entire stock. Two weeks minimum to rebuild supply lines."
Marcellus outlines defensive adjustments. Nadia reports on redistribution logistics. The discussion flows with the efficiency of people who have worked together for decades, maybe centuries.
I listen. Absorb. Try to understand the shape of what Maximus has built.
But my attention keeps snagging on him. The way he listens when his people speak, actually listens, his head tilted slightly, those gray eyes focused with absolute attention. The way his fingers tap against the table when he's thinking, a slow rhythm, the only tell that his mind is working faster than the conversation. The way the low light catches the sharp line of his cheekbone, the strong column of his throat where it disappears into his collar.
I'm watching too closely. I know I am.
"The attack pattern suggests probing behavior," Marcellus says. "Testing response times, identifying weaknesses. Standard reconnaissance tactics."
"Agreed." Julian pulls up a new screen. "He's gathering intelligence for a larger strike. Question is where he'll hit next."
"Reinforce the remaining depots," Victor suggests. "Increase patrol frequency on supply routes."
Everyone nods. Sound strategy. Protect the assets.
But something bothers me.
I watch them discuss patrol schedules and security protocols, and the itch grows stronger. They're focused on infrastructure. Depots. Routes. Storage facilities. Physical assets.
Konstantin didn't just destroy blood storage tonight. He destroyed a sense of safety. Proved he could reach them when and where he wanted.
What if that's the point?
"The eastern corridor needs double coverage," Maximus is saying. "And I want a full security review of all depot locations by tomorrow night."
"What about the donors?"
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. Every head in the room turns toward me.
I feel the weight of their attention. Centuries of experience staring at a fledgling who's been here barely more than a week. But I've started now, and retreating would be worse than being wrong.
"Everyone's focused on infrastructure," I say, keeping my voice steady. "Depots. Supply routes. But the network isn't just buildings and blood bags. It's people. And Konstantin didn't just destroy storage tonight. He sent a message."
Maximus is watching me. His expression reveals nothing, but he hasn't interrupted. His body has gone very still, that predator stillness that means he's paying absolute attention.
"If I wanted to break a network like this, I wouldn't just go after buildings. I'd go after people's sense of security. Make them wonder if anywhere is safe. The donors trust you to protect them. What happens to that trust if Konstantin starts targeting them directly?"
Silence.
I'm suddenly aware of how presumptuous this must sound. Eight days here, and I'm questioning the strategy of vampires who've been doing this since before my grandmother was born.
"I could be completely wrong," I add. "I don't know enough tosay where he'll hit next. But buildings can be rebuilt. Fear is harder to fix."
