But his hand brushes mine as we move through the corridor. Just barely. A secret between us.
And for the first time since I died, I'm not facing the darkness alone.
Chapter
Twenty
The next hour is controlled chaos.
I move through it on autopilot, issuing orders, coordinating responses, managing the crisis with the part of my brain that's been doing this for centuries. The other part is still standing in that conference room, her taste on my lips, her hands gripping my forearms, the soft sound she made when I deepened the kiss.
Focus. Six people are dead. There will be time for everything else later.
The inner circle assembles in the security center rather than the conference room. Screens cover the walls, showing feeds from across the city. Red markers indicate the six locations where donors were killed. Six homes. Six families destroyed.
Julian runs point on coordinating with our people in the field. Nadia manages communications with the surviving donors, those we can still reach, those who haven't already fled. Marcellus stands at my shoulder, a solid presence I've relied on for two centuries.
And Celeste.
She's positioned near the back of the room, watching everything with those sharp eyes. Learning. Absorbing. She hasn't spoken since we left the war room, but I can see her processing the information, fitting pieces together.
When our eyes meet, something passes between us.
"Confirmed kills at all six locations," Julian reports. "Clean strikes. Professional. They were in and out within minutes."
"Security footage?"
"Disabled at each site before the attacks. They knew exactly where the cameras were."
The implication hangs heavy in the room. They had inside information. Not just donor addresses, specific security details.
"Pull the access logs," I say. "I want to know everyone who's had access to donor files in the last month."
"That's a significant list," Nadia says carefully. "Anyone in coordination, security, medical."
"Then we check every name."
The tension in the room thickens. I'm asking them to investigate each other. To look at colleagues, friends, as potential traitors.
It's necessary. That doesn't make it pleasant.
"Sir." Ethan steps forward, and for once the restless energy has focused into something sharp. "You need to see this. It was delivered to the main gate five minutes ago. I've already pulled security footage of the delivery and started a trace on the courier service."
He hands me the tablet. On the screen is a photograph of an envelope, formal, cream-colored, sealed with red wax. The kind of thing Konstantin would find amusing.
"Courier was human. Paid cash. Said a man gave him the envelope outside a coffee shop in Midtown, but the description is useless. Average height, average build, hat, and sunglasses. I've gotpeople checking camera footage in the area, but I'm not optimistic. It's been scanned for threats. Clean."
"Bring it to me."
Two minutes later, I'm holding the envelope. The wax seal bears Konstantin's mark, a serpent eating its own tail. Pretentious bastard.
I break the seal and remove the letter inside. Heavy paper, elegant script. He always did have expensive taste.
Maximus,
By now, you've discovered that your network is not as secure as you believed. Six donors tonight. How many tomorrow? How many the night after?
This war of attrition serves neither of us. You will lose eventually, we both know this. The only question is how much you're willing to sacrifice before you accept the inevitable.
