The caller ID burned into Gwen's vision: Colonel Steele. A man who had never called her during leave unless something had gone sideways.
She stared at the phone, watching the seconds tick by.
Six minutes until Kaine was scheduled to arrive.
'Answer it and risk losing my only chance to reconnect with someone who actually mattered. Ignore it and risk consequences that could end my career.'
Her finger moved to accept before she could think twice.
"Major Gwen."
"You're needed at headquarters immediately. Colonel Jax and Colonel Silas have arrived for an inspection. They've specifically requested you."
Gwen's stomach dropped. Jax and Silas were heavy hitters—the kind who could make or break careers with a word.
"Sir, I'm on authorized leave—"
"Not anymore. Report now. This is not a request."
The line went dead.
'Fuck.'
7:54 AM. Four minutes until Kaine arrived, and she was being ordered to headquarters immediately.
She made her decision with cold calculation. The military summons took priority—she could reschedule with Kaine, but she couldn't ignore direct orders without facing consequences that would destroy her career.
Gwen grabbed her portfolio and left the coffee shop. She flagged down a taxi.
"Shadow Guard headquarters. There's an extra twenty if you can get me there in fifteen minutes."
The driver glanced at her in the mirror, taking in her bearing. "You military?"
"Something like that."
"Hold on then."
---
The elevator carried her to the third floor. She could hear voices from Steele's office before she reached it—the kind of conversation that suggested senior officers discussing life-and-death decisions.
Colonel Steele stood behind his desk, tension written across his face. Two visiting officers were positioned near the window.
Colonel Bernice Jax was exactly what Gwen expected—late thirties, athletic, with alert intelligence that marked someone who'd survived encounters with things that treated human life as expendable. Her civilian clothes suggested this was unofficial rather than formal inspection.
Colonel Benedict Silas was older, refined, with diplomatic bearing that suggested intelligence operations. Gray hair precisely styled, expensive but understated clothes, pale eyes that analyzed everything.
"Major Gwen," Steele said as she entered. "Thank you for responding quickly."
"Sir. I understand you requested my presence."
"We've been reviewing your recent reports," Jax said, stepping forward. "Particularly your engagement with the Level 3 vampire nest in the industrial district."
"Standard nest elimination. Three confirmed kills."
"We're here because your record represents exactly the expertise we need for an upcoming assignment," Silas continued. "Something requiring both combat experience and the ability to work independently in civilian environments."
Despite her frustration about the interrupted meeting, Gwen felt her attention sharpen. High-level assignments meant significant responsibility and potential career advancement.
"What kind of assignment?"
"Intelligence gathering and potential combat operations in an urban environment," Jax replied. "We've received reports of unusual supernatural activity—not routine vampire nests or demon cults, but organized supernatural elements with significant resources."
"The preliminary intelligence suggests entities that have integrated into legitimate business and social structures," Silas added. "This requires someone who can operate in civilian environments while maintaining cover and gathering intelligence on targets with extensive human resources and political connections."
Gwen glanced at her phone—8:15 AM. Kaine had been waiting fifteen minutes, and she had no way to contact him without revealing her actual identity.
'He's probably already left, thinking Sarah Morgan is just another flaky civilian.'
"Major," Jax said, noticing her distraction, "is there something else requiring your attention?"
"No, ma'am. I'm fully available."
The conversation continued for twenty minutes, covering timelines, resources, and bureaucratic details. When the colonels concluded their briefing, Gwen found herself committed to a new assignment requiring her full attention for the foreseeable future.
She left headquarters with professional satisfaction mixed with personal frustration, already calculating how to salvage the situation with Kaine while maintaining her military obligations.
The taxi ride back gave her time to compose an explanation that would preserve her civilian cover. She pulled out her phone and dialed.
"Mr. Cross? This is Sarah Morgan. I'm calling to apologize for missing our meeting this morning."
---
Kaine Cross stood outside Meridian Grounds at exactly 8:00 AM, his senses automatically cataloging the morning environment for threats.
The coffee shop buzzed with the usual crowd—professionals grabbing caffeine, students claiming study tables, business meetings over expensive beverages.
He'd cleaned up from the night's activities, trading torn and bloodstained clothing for a dark jacket and jeans that looked civilian but allowed full movement. His appearance suggested private security or law enforcement—professional but not threatening.
Marcus stood fifteen feet away, positioned to observe both the entrance and surrounding street. The Ghoul's pale eyes tracked pedestrian movement with mechanical precision.
'Sarah Morgan said blue jacket, brown leather portfolio. Should be easy to spot.'
Kaine entered and surveyed the interior. No blue jacket. No brown portfolio. No one waiting for a private investigator.
'Eight-fifteen. Fifteen minutes late. Could be traffic, could be something more complicated.'
His phone rang at 8:18. Sarah Morgan's number.
"Kaine Cross."
"Mr. Cross? This is Sarah Morgan. I'm calling to apologize for missing our meeting."
Her voice carried genuine distress mixed with professional embarrassment—legitimate circumstances rather than deliberate deception. But beneath that, Kaine's enhanced senses picked up controlled tension suggesting someone managing multiple priorities.
"What happened?"
"Something urgent came up—a family emergency requiring my immediate attention. I know this is unprofessional."
"I appreciate you calling. When were you thinking of rescheduling?"
"I'm already on my way back. I know it's another imposition, but I'm genuinely worried about my friend, and I don't want to delay getting help."
"That could work. Just—"
His attention snapped to the street as his supernatural senses detected something that made his blood turn cold.
A black sedan moved slowly through morning traffic, occupants invisible behind tinted windows. But the supernatural aura radiating from the vehicle was unlike anything he'd encountered in twelve years of hunting vampires.
[DEATH SIGHT - EXTREME THREAT DETECTED]
[CLASSIFICATION: VAMPIRE - ORIGIN CLASS UNKNOWN]
[POWER LEVEL: UNKNOWN]
The information painted across his vision should have been impossible. Vampires above third generation were extremely rare, and anything approaching Original status was supposed to be theoretical.
But the aura from the sedan's interior was old, powerful, radiating predatory awareness that marked something perfecting the art of hunting humans for centuries.
'What the hell is that thing doing driving through morning traffic?'
Kaine moved toward the entrance. The sedan proceeded slowly through the intersection, movement suggesting systematic patrol rather than routine transportation.
"Ms. Morgan," he said into the phone, voice carrying distracted attention, "I'm sorry, but I need to handle something else right now. I'll call you back to confirm rescheduling."
"Mr. Cross, wait—"
He ended the call and stepped outside, enhanced senses tracking the sedan's progress. The vehicle moved with deliberate precision, occupants conducting what appeared to be active surveillance.
'Either that thing is hunting someone specific, or it's reconnaissance for something larger. Either way, I need to know what it's doing in my territory.'