Julian agreed. The lords aren’t here to evaluate our tactical capabilities. They’re here to decide whether what Konstantin built is something they can live with.
The first frame is paused on the display. The facility exterior. I walked through that door. Now it’s a thumbnail on a screen and the woman behind it is a file path on Julian’s drive.
You’re about to use what happened to her to move a room full of people who drink blood from crystal glasses.
I feel Maximus before I see him. The bond brightens as he nears the door. Then I hear him. The corridor, his stride. He enters and moves to the back wall. Away from the front. Away from me. Behind and to the right, near the shuttered windows.
He’s giving me the room.
I stay facing forward. Through the bond, steadiness. And underneath it, something coiled tight.
The lords arrive.
Okonkwo first. Blue robes, broad shoulders, the kind of presence that fills a space the moment he enters it. He takes the center chair without hesitation and sits with his palms pressed to his thighs. His dark eyes sweep the screens, the chairs, the positioning. He clocks Maximus at the back wall. Clocks me at the front. His chin lifts a fraction.
Dmitri next. Pale suit, silver-streaked hair, posture that could hold up a cathedral. Two guards at the corridor junction who haven’t moved since he arrived. He takes the chair to Okonkwo’s left with the precision of someone who has never sat down carelessly in his life.
Chen. Three feet apart from the others. Hands folded in his lap. Silent.
Lady Santos arrives after Chen. I’ve never seen her in person. She’s avoided every meeting, every summit, every gathering where lords had to pick a side. Jet black hair, olive skin, dark pantsuit, no guards, taking the end chair like a woman who wants to be near the exit. She came. That’s either very good or very bad.
Vivienne last. Green silk. Red hair pinned and architectural. She scans the room as she enters, tracking every face, every position, every angle, and then drapes herself across her chair with the performance of boredom that stopped fooling me the second time she did it.
Three minor lords fill the remaining chairs. Smaller territories. Fewer vampires. The kind of lords who survive by reading which way the wind blows and leaning into it before it changes.
The door closes. Marcellus outside it. Julian at the console.
I stand.
No one introduced me. No one asked for remarks. I walk to the front of the room and stop between the lords and the screens, and every vampire in that arc turns their attention to me.
You’ve been hit harder than this. By people actually trying to hurt you.
“Days ago, we struck a facility forty miles outside Atlanta.” My voice comes out even. “I led the ground team. What I’m about to show you is what we found.”
I nod at Julian. He starts the footage.
My feed first. Body camera. The corridor. Concrete floors, industrial lighting, the hum of a ventilation system cycling stale air. The first door opening.
Twelve cots arranged in two rows of six. IV lines running from elbows to a central collection unit mounted on the far wall. Digital readouts monitoring volume. Fluorescent light that doesn’t change between day and night.
A woman in the center of the left row turns her face toward me on the screen. Thin arms. Scarred IV site. Her eyes look the same on the footage as they did in person.
I let it run for thirty seconds. Long enough for the image to land.
Okonkwo’s hands press against his thighs. Dmitri’s chin drops a degree. Chen holds where he is, but his breathing changes. Santos gives nothing. Vivienne’s eyes narrow. Behind them, one of the minor lords looks away from the screen. Another hasn’t blinked.
I pause the footage.
“Twelve cots per room. Three rooms on the main corridor. A children’s wing down a separate hall.” I keep my voice level. “Forty-seven people. Some of them have been in that facility long enough for the needle scars to layer. Some of them are children who have never been outside.”
I advance to the second room. Same configuration. Same fluorescent light. Same IV lines. A man in the far corner is standing. The only person in the first two rooms who is vertical. On the footage, his mouth moves. The audio is thin, but the words are audible.
He’s asking if I’m new staff.
I let that play. I don’t explain it.
Julian switches to his feed. The administrative side. Clipboards hanging on hooks beside each cot. Blood type, draw volume, draw frequency, subject number. Standardized forms with neat, consistent handwriting. Someone designed those forms. Printed them. Filled them in every day with the diligence of someone maintaining a production log.
