The elevator to Ashford Tower's penthouse required a biometric scan that recognized Damon before he could announce himself. The doors opened directly into a space that made his billion-dollar office look like a college dorm.Victoria Ashford stood at floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, backlit by Manhattan's glittering skyline. Mid-forties, platinum blonde hair styled with surgical precision, wearing a suit that probably cost more than most people's cars.But it was her eyes that stopped him cold—the same calculating intelligence he'd seen in Dragon Fang's gaze, except sharper. Hungrier."Mr. Blackwood. Punctual despite the circumstances." She didn't turn from the window. "Tell me, how does it feel watching everything you've built crumble in real-time?""Get to the point.""The point?" Now she turned, and her smile could have cut diamonds. "The point is that you've become inconvenient. The Council invested considerable resources positioning you as a controlled asset. T

"You want me to give up everything I've become?"The words hung in Victoria's penthouse like smoke from a gun that hadn't been fired yet. Below, tactical boots echoed through stairwells—federal agents closing in with the methodical precision of people who believed they were hunting terrorists.Marcus Aurelius Blackwood set down his glass with the kind of deliberate care that came from two centuries of practice. "Not everything. Just the parts that are killing you.""I'm not dying.""Aren't you?" His ancient eyes found Damon's with uncomfortable accuracy. "Tell me, great-grandson—when was the last time you slept without dreaming of ancient battlefields? When did you last look in a mirror and recognize the face staring back?"[PSYCHOLOGICAL ASSESSMENT: ACCURATE][PERSONALITY DRIFT: 67% FROM BASELINE][HUMAN EMOTIONAL RESPONSES: DECLINING][WARNING: POINT OF NO RETURN APPROACHING]The system's clinical analysis felt like vindication and accusation in equal measure. Damon had become some

The senator was speaking into a secure phone, words too quiet for normal hearing to catch. But Damon noticed how her eyes kept returning to Marcus's body with something that might have been grief."Did you know him?" Damon asked. "My ancestor?"Williams lowered her phone, composure cracking slightly. "Everyone in certain circles knew Marcus Aurelius Blackwood. The man who walked away from godhood and somehow survived the Council's attention for over a century." She studied Damon with calculating assessment. "The question is whether his great-grandson is smart enough to do the same.""I'm listening.""The Council maintains order through blackmail, coercion, and supernatural intimidation. But they're vulnerable to one thing they never bothered developing immunity to—public exposure." Williams gestured to the agents securing the crime scene. "This penthouse is now a federal investigation site. Every piece of evidence, every Council operative present, all of it entering official records.

Damon felt the bullet pass close enough to feel its heat, heard it embed in the wall behind where his head had been. Adrian's aim had been deliberately wide—warning shot or mercy, impossible to tell through chemical foam and fratricidal chaos.Claire's scream cut through everything else. Not pain this time—triumph mixed with terror as the baby crowned."Doctors!" she managed between contractions. "Need doctors now!"But the foam had triggered evacuation protocols. The medical staff were gone, pulled back to safe zones while security assessed whether this was attack or accident. Just two compromised cousins, one determined ally, and a woman giving birth in the middle of what might charitably be called a clusterfuck.Damon made his choice.Not toward Viktor, who was recovering from the IV stand impact with enhanced healing that made mockery of human resilience. Not toward Adrian, whose gun was already tracking for a second shot.Toward Claire."Talk me through it," he said, positionin

"The morphine's wearing off."Damon's eyes cracked open to fluorescent lights that felt like knives stabbing directly into his brain. Hospital rooms all looked the same, apparently. White walls, beeping machines, that antiseptic smell that never quite masked the underlying scent of human suffering.Mei Lin sat beside his bed, dark circles under her eyes suggesting she hadn't slept since the hospital chaos three days ago. Her hand rested near his but not quite touching, like she was afraid he might shatter under contact."How bad?" His voice came out like gravel scraped across concrete."Three cracked ribs, internal bleeding they had to operate on twice, and a concussion that had the doctors convinced you'd wake up brain damaged." She managed a weak smile. "But you're talking, so jury's still out on that last one."He tried to sit up and immediately regretted every choice that had led to this moment. The pain was exquisite in ways supernatural healing had never allowed him to experi