The Grand Veros Hotel was a monument to old money, a cathedral of marble, brass, and hushed, cripplingly expensive silence. It was a place Vicky Thorne couldn't have afforded to even look at a few months ago. Today, he was holding court.
He arrived at 9:55 AM for his 10:00 AM meeting. A deliberate power move. He was dressed in a simple, perfectly tailored charcoal suit that cost more than a semester's tuition. He wasn't the haunted, desperate boy from the rainy streets; he was a Level 10 Vampire Progenitor, and for the first time, he was enjoying the game.
He chose a table in the lobby's opulent cafe, one with a clear view of the entrance and all exits. He didn't order. He simply sat, a picture of calm, and listened.
He activated his new skill - Blood Sense (Lvl 1). The world, which had already been sharp and clear, dissolved into a new, vibrant spectrum of information. He could feel the life force of every person in the lobby. The doorman's steady, bored pulse. The anxiety of a family checking out, their heartbeats quick with the stress of travel. The slow, rhythmic thrum of the hotel staff. It was a symphony of life, and he was its conductor.
At 10:01 AM, he felt her pulse before he saw her.
Mila Torres walked in. She was a detective, and she was dressed to hunt. She wore a sharp, professional navy-blue dress that was practical but undeniably attractive. Her hair was pulled back, her eyes were sharp, and she exuded an aura of focused, intelligent control.
Vicky's - Blood Sense focused on her instantly, locking on.
TARGET ANALYSIS: Mila Torres (Lvl 1 Human)
Status: Curious, Wary, Focused.
Heart Rate: 78 BPM (Slightly elevated, but controlled. She's nervous but hiding it.)
"Vicky," she said, her voice smooth as she slid into the seat opposite him. "Thanks for making the time. I wasn't sure if you'd show."
"Mila. A promise is a promise," Vicky replied, his own voice a calm, low baritone. He gestured to a waiter. "Coffee?"
"Black," she said.
Vicky ordered a black coffee for her and a simple water for himself.
"So," Mila began, leaning forward, her "analyst" persona clicking into place. "The 'Midas Touch.' I've been running the numbers on Nightwatch Holdings. You've absorbed three failing tech startups in the last week. Every analyst predicted they'd fold. Today, their stock is up 200%. How do you do it?"
Vicky smiled. He could hear her pulse. 80 BPM. She was telling the truth. She had been investigating him.
"I don't play the stock, Mila. I play the people. Those companies weren't failing; they were just mismanaged. I find the right people, put them in the right places, and remove the obstacles. It's just... applied logic."
"Applied logic," she repeated, her pen tapping her notepad. "That's what you call the complete recovery of Senator Hayes? Or the financial ruin of the Vance family?"
Vicky's - Blood Sense flared.
TARGET ANALYSIS: Mila Torres
Status: Probing (Testing for a reaction).
Heart Rate: 88 BPM (Anticipation. She thinks she's cornered him.)
He didn't react. He leaned forward, his gaze so intense that she instinctively leaned back. "The Vances were a bubble, and I popped it. Senator Hayes was a good man being stifled by a bad disease. I... 'invested' in his recovery. I'm a philanthropist, Mila. I fix broken things. Is that a crime?"
His voice was so reasonable, so calm, that it made her accusation sound absurd. She was flustered, and her heart rate jumped to 92 BPM. She was losing control of the "interview."
"Let's talk about you, Mila," Vicky said, changing the dynamic. "A financial analyst for a small blog. It doesn't... fit. Your questions aren't about finance; they're about power. Your pulse," he said, tapping his own chest, "is too steady for an analyst. It's the pulse of someone trained. Someone who carries a... weight."
Mila's eyes widened. Her hand instinctively twitched toward her purse, where her VCPD-issued sidearm was concealed.
TARGET ANALYSIS: Mila Torres
Status: Alarmed. Compromised.
Heart Rate: 105 BPM (Adrenaline spike. Fight or flight.)
She was lying, and he'd caught her. But he didn't push. He just smiled, a disarming, almost kind smile. "It's alright. Everyone has their secrets."
Before she could respond, there was a sharp clatter and a gasp.
A young waiter, no older than Vicky himself, had been refilling their water. His hand had trembled, spilling a small puddle on the marble floor. Standing over him was the hotel's manager, a tall, severe man whose face was twisted in rage.
"You clumsy, incompetent child!" the manager hissed, his voice low but sharp. "That is a $5,000 Italian suit you just splashed! Do you have any idea what you've done? You're fired! Get out!"
The waiter, 'Alex' according to his name tag, looked devastated. His face went pale. "No, please, Mr. Harrison! It was an accident! I need this job! My... my tuition..."
Mila, the cop, tensed. She hated bullies, and she was about to intervene, to flash her badge and defend the kid.
But Vicky held up a single, calm hand. A cold fury, entirely separate from his performance for Mila, settled over him. This wasn't an act. This arrogant, petty man... he was a small-scale Damien Vance. A bully who used his tiny scrap of power to crush someone helpless. The old Vicky had endured this. The new Vicky ended it.
"Mr. Harrison," he called out, his voice not loud, but carrying an unmistakable authority that silenced the entire cafe.
The manager turned, annoyed, then froze when he saw the suit, the watch, and the sheer, cold confidence of the man addressing him. "Sir?"
"What's Alex's full name?" Vicky asked.
"Sir, this is an internal staff matter—"
"I don't think it is," Vicky said, his voice dropping a degree. "I run a charity. The 'Veros Student Future Fund.' We provide scholarships to bright kids. Alex, here, seems to be a student. What's your tuition, Alex?"
Alex, trembling, stammered, "S-Six... sixteen thousand dollars a year, sir. At Veros University. I'm... I'm pre-med."
Vicky nodded. He looked at the manager. "You'd fire a future doctor over a wet shoe. Pathetic."
Vicky pulled out his phone. He sent a single text to Marcus Keller.
(Vicky): Grand Veros Hotel. Waiter, Alex Preston, Veros U. Pay his entire tuition. Four years. And find out who holds the mortgage on this hotel. I want to buy it. And fire this manager.
He put his phone away. It had taken five seconds.
"Mr. Harrison," Vicky said, "I've just arranged to pay for Alex's entire university education. So, he won't be needing this job. And in about forty-eight hours, when my acquisition of this hotel is finalized, you will be needing a new one. Get out of my sight."
The manager's face went from puce to ghost-white. He looked at Vicky, then at Alex, then at the phone on the table. He saw no 'Midas Touch.' He saw an executioner. He turned and fled.
Alex was just standing there, tears streaming down his face. "I... I don't... sir..."
Vicky's expression, which had been ice-cold for the manager, suddenly softened. This was real. He saw his old, desperate self in the boy. He gave Alex a small, genuine smile.
"Go to the bursar's office tomorrow, Alex," Vicky said, his voice now quiet and kind. "Focus on your studies. Don't let men like that ever make you feel small again. "
Vicky stood up, tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the table for the coffee. He turned back to Mila.
Mila Torres was completely, utterly speechless. Her "suspect," the shadowy monster she'd been hunting, had just saved a kid's future and destroyed a bully's career in the same breath. The ruthlessness was terrifying, but the kindness... the kindness was genuine. She had seen his face change, his eyes soften for the boy. That wasn't an act.
Vicky looked at her, this sharp, brave, beautiful woman who was trying so hard to trap him. He watched her mind race, trying to reconcile the two VICKYs she had just seen.
She's the only one who's come close, he thought to himself, a flicker of genuine amusement and... fondness... stirring within him. She's sitting right across from me, trying to figure out how to put me in a cage. And I find myself... actually enjoying her company. How ironic. He almost smiled at the thought.
He leaned in, his new - Blood Sense giving him a perfect, unfiltered reading.
TARGET ANALYSIS: Mila Torres
Status: Shock, Confusion, Admiration... and Fear.
Heart Rate: 115 BPM (A chaotic, volatile mix of emotions.)
"You were right, Mila," Vicky whispered, his small, private smile still playing on his lips. "It's not a date. But we should do this again. You're a terrible liar, but your heart... your heart is fascinating."
He turned and walked out of the hotel, leaving her alone at the table, her entire investigation—and her entire worldview—in ruins. She had come to trap a monster, and had instead found herself hopelessly, terrifyingly charmed by a king.