Silence in the Black House was never peaceful.
By 0400, Adrian was already deep into the data mesh of his human network, his eyes reflecting the rapid-fire scroll of anomalies. Almost like he was addicted to it.
Lucian was occupied with the fallout of the board-share dump—a move that had the High Council screaming into comm-lines—and Adrian knew that in the chaos of a financial war, the physical world left openings.
He found the pattern in the mundane, again. Like he had been doing these past weeks. It wasn't a spike in supernatural resonance or a surge in vampire activity. It was fuel.
Three independent fuel shipments, diverted from the municipal grid, like they had been doing since he stepped into this house.
He asked himself same question he had been asking for a while:
Just how busy had Lucian been, investigating his parents death, these past few years?
