The city was bleeding dawn through the gaps between buildings, painting everything in shades of amber and rose that made the night's violence seem like a fever dream.
Kaine moved through the maze of fire escapes and rooftops , his enhanced senses tracking the rhythm of a city waking up below him.
The distant hum of early commuter traffic mixed with the clatter of delivery trucks and the occasional bark of a dog somewhere in the residential blocks stretching toward the horizon.
'Four hours. Felt like twenty minutes and twenty years all at once.'
His shirt was ruined—torn fabric hanging in strips where vampire claws had found their mark, dried blood forming abstract patterns across his chest.
The wounds beneath had healed completely, leaving only faint silver lines that would disappear entirely within the hour.
But the smell of combat clung to him like smoke, that particular mixture of spilled blood, supernatural discharge, and the ozone scent that lingered after serious magic had been thrown around.
Marcus followed three paces behind, moving across the rooftops with that eerie silence that marked him as something fundamentally other than human.
The Ghoul's pale skin showed no signs of the carnage they'd left behind—not a scratch, not a drop of blood, not even wrinkled clothing. He'd torn through five supernatural entities like they were made of paper and tissue, and now he looked like he'd spent the evening reading quietly in a library.
'Sometimes I forget how unsettling he is until moments like this. Perfect killing machine wrapped in the appearance of a tired businessman.'
The sounds of the city were getting louder as they moved closer to ground level. Coffee shops opening with the metallic clink of espresso machines warming up.
Street vendors setting up their breakfast carts with the sizzle of bacon hitting hot metal. The rumble of subway trains carrying the first wave of commuters toward their daily battles with spreadsheets and conference calls.
They were four blocks from Kaine's apartment when his phone rang.
The sound cut through the ambient noise of awakening city life like a knife through silk—electronic and insistent, pulling him back from the post-combat detachment that had settled over his thoughts like a protective blanket.
He stopped walking and pulled the device from his jacket pocket.
Unknown caller.
'Could be Richard calling from somewhere else. Could be cleanup complications from the Ashford situation. Could be something entirely new and potentially more complicated than vampire insurance fraud.'
He answered on the fourth ring, keeping his voice neutral and professional. "Kaine Cross."
The voice that responded wasn't Richard's panicked tenor. It was female, confident but carrying an undertone of nervousness that suggested someone trying to project more control than they actually felt.
"Mr. Cross? My name is Sarah Morgan. I was wondering if you might be available for a consultation."
Kaine's eyebrows rose slightly.
He leaned against a brick wall that still held the night's chill, watching Marcus take position where he could observe both ends of the street without appearing to pay attention to anything in particular.
"What kind of consultation, Ms. Morgan?"
"It's about a friend of mine. Her behavior has been... concerning lately." The woman's voice carried the kind of careful word choice that suggested she was trying to discuss sensitive subjects without saying anything too specific over an open phone line. "She's been isolating herself, avoiding social contact, only communicating through phone calls. She even resigned from her position at work just to stay home doing nothing."
'Classic vampire turning symptoms. New bloodsucker trying to adapt to altered feeding patterns and supernatural sensitivities.'
"How long has this been going on?" Kaine asked.
"About six weeks. It started gradually—just seeming tired and withdrawn. But it's gotten progressively worse. She won't see anyone in person, claims she's too sick for visitors, but she sounds... different when we talk."
"Different how?"
"Her voice is colder. More distant. And she only calls after dark now." Sarah paused, and Kaine could hear the sound of traffic in the background on her end. "I know this might sound paranoid, but I'm worried she might have been... influenced by something supernatural."
'Either she's genuinely concerned about a friend who's been turned, or this is an elaborate setup designed to get me into a controlled situation. Given the night I've had, I'm inclined toward professional paranoia.'
"Ms. Morgan," Kaine said, exhaling smoke into the morning air, "I need to ask you something directly. Do you have reason to believe your friend has been attacked or influenced by vampires?"
The pause stretched long enough that he could hear distant sirens somewhere across the city, probably responding to whatever cleanup the Ashford situation had required. When Sarah spoke again, her voice was quieter, more vulnerable.
"Yes. I think she has."
Kaine found himself impressed by the woman's directness. Most potential clients spent twenty minutes dancing around supernatural terminology before admitting what they really suspected.
Sarah Morgan either had experience with this kind of situation, or she was confident enough in her suspicions to skip the usual denial and bargaining phases.
"I can help you," he said. "But I need more details about your friend's situation, her recent activities, anyone new she might have encountered. And I'll need to discuss my fees and operational procedures."
"I'd prefer to present everything to you in person," Sarah replied quickly. "This needs to be confidential, and I'm not comfortable discussing details over the phone."
'Standard request for sensitive supernatural cases. But also exactly what someone would say if they were trying to get me to a specific location for reasons that don't involve legitimate consultation services.'
Kaine considered his options while watching Marcus subtly repositioning himself to cover a delivery truck that had pulled up at the end of the street. The Ghoul's predatory instincts were always active, cataloging potential threats and escape routes even during routine conversation.
"When and where?" he asked.
"Are you available this morning? I know it's short notice, but I'm worried about my friend, and I've already taken the day off work to deal with this."
'Early business means good business. And if it's a trap, better to walk into it when I'm still running on combat adrenaline rather than waiting for fatigue to set in.'
"What time were you thinking?"
"Eight o'clock? There's a coffee shop called Meridian Grounds on the corner of Fifth and Hartwell. It's quiet enough for private conversation, but public enough that we'll both feel comfortable."
Kaine knew the location—a trendy place that catered to young professionals and university students, with enough background noise to mask conversation but sufficient visibility to discourage anything too dramatic. Good choice for either a legitimate consultation or a relatively civilized ambush.
"I'll be there," he said. "How will I recognize you?"
"I'll be wearing a blue jacket and carrying a brown leather portfolio. And Mr. Cross? Thank you for taking this seriously. Most people would think I'm being paranoid."
"In my line of work, paranoia is a survival trait. I'll see you at eight."
The call ended with the soft click of disconnection, leaving Kaine standing in the growing morning light with the lingering scent of supernatural violence.
He pocketed the phone and looked at Marcus, who had returned to his standard three-pace following distance.
"Seems like our day just got busier," he said. "Another client, another potential problem."
Marcus tilted his head with odd curiosity, pale eyes reflecting the early sunlight like polished stone.
"Come on," Kaine said. "Let's go home and get cleaned up. Early morning meetings require a more professional appearance than 'recently fought multiple vampires in expensive residential neighborhoods.'"
---
Across the city, in a different kind of morning entirely, a lady ended the call and stared at her phone's black screen for several seconds.
Major Patricia Gwen's reflection looked back at her from the dark glass—sharp green eyes, platinum hair pulled back in a style that suggested military precision softened by civilian fashion, and the kind of controlled expression that revealed nothing about the thoughts beneath.
She'd been holding Kaine's business card for six hours, turning it over in her fingers like a talisman while she debated whether to make contact.
The white rectangle of cardstock had acquired a slight bend from her handling, but the black text remained perfectly legible: 'Kaine Cross - Private Investigation - Supernatural Consultation - Discretion Guaranteed.'
'Discretion guaranteed. If only he knew who he'd just agreed to meet.'
The lie had come easily—too easily, perhaps. Sarah Morgan was a name she'd used for covert operations before, and the story about a friend with suspicious behavioral changes was exactly the kind of supernatural consultation request that would appeal to someone in Kaine's profession.
She'd even managed to inject genuine concern into her voice, drawing on memories of actual friends who'd been lost to various forms of supernatural influence over the years.
'But this isn't about professional consultation. This is about unfinished business and questions that have been eating at me for one year,'
Gwen rose from the hotel room's single chair and moved to the window, looking out at a city that was transitioning from night to day with the relentless efficiency of mechanical clockwork.
Early commuters were already filling the sidewalks, coffee in one hand and phones in the other, their attention focused on the small screens that connected them to their professional obligations.
'One year since I last saw him. One year since that mission went sideways and everything changed. Does he ever think about what we had, or has he moved on to other complications?'
The reflection in the window showed someone dressed for civilian life but carrying herself with military bearing. Dark jeans that looked casual but allowed for full range of movement. A black sweater that appeared fashionable but concealed the tactical vest underneath. Ankle boots with hidden reinforcement and soles designed for running on any surface.
And underneath the civilian camouflage, enough weaponry to handle most supernatural encounters short of a full-scale demonic incursion.
'Because if this meeting goes badly, I need to be prepared for the possibility that Kaine Cross isn't the same person I remember.'
She checked her watch—7:15 AM. Forty-five minutes until the scheduled meeting, which meant she had time to reach the location and conduct preliminary reconnaissance of the area.
Coffee shops were excellent meeting places for many reasons, but they also presented tactical challenges if the situation deteriorated rapidly.
Gwen gathered her equipment, checking each piece before securing it in locations that would pass casual observation but allow for rapid deployment.
The blade strapped to her thigh was ceramic, invisible to most detection methods.
'Paranoid? Absolutely. But alive because of it.'
She left the hotel room with the kind of casual confidence that suggested someone heading out for routine morning errands rather than a potentially dangerous reunion with someone who might no longer remember her as anything more than a professional complication from his past.
The taxi ride to Meridian Grounds took twenty-five minutes through increasingly dense morning traffic, the driver navigating with the aggressiveness of someone who'd learned to treat city streets like a video game with financial stakes.
Gwen spent the journey watching the urban landscape transition from residential neighborhoods to commercial districts, noting potential escape routes and tactical considerations out of professional habit.
'Some habits never die.'
Meridian Grounds occupied the ground floor of a converted brownstone, its windows large enough to provide excellent visibility of the surrounding area while the interior layout offered multiple exit points for anyone who preferred to avoid main entrances.
The morning crowd was exactly what she'd expected—young professionals grabbing caffeine before work, university students claiming tables for extended study sessions, and the occasional business meeting conducted over expensive coffee and minimal eye contact.
'Perfect. Busy enough for privacy, public enough for safety, familiar enough that Kaine won't suspect anything unusual.'
Gwen ordered coffee she didn't particularly want and claimed a table near the back of the establishment, positioning herself where she could observe both the front entrance and the service corridor that led to the rear exit.
She checked her phone: 7:52 AM. Eight minutes until Kaine was scheduled to arrive, assuming he was punctual and hadn't decided that early morning meetings with unknown clients represented unacceptable security risks.
'He'll come. He always was curious about puzzles, and I've presented him with an interesting one. The question is whether he'll recognize me before I decide to reveal myself.'
Just then, her phone rang.
The sound cut through her careful observation of the coffee shop's entrance like an alarm bell. She pulled the device from her jacket pocket, expecting to see Kaine's number—perhaps calling to confirm the meeting location or request a brief delay.
Instead, the caller ID displayed a number that made her blood freeze in her veins.
'Why is he calling me now? Today, of all days?'