Private Medevac Jet "Nightwing," Altitude 38,000 ft, 2:17 AM
The cabin lights were dimmed to near-total darkness for humans—but to the Night Clan, it was as soft as a full-moon night.
Elias Night lay in the center of the medical bay, connected not to ordinary medical devices but to an intricate system of crystalline conduits through which a dark red fluid flowed. The liquid shimmered with an odd iridescence in the faint cabin light, like captured sunset.
"His Sanguis Purity continues to decline." Lucien reported in a low voice. The 450-year-old steward wore a perfectly tailored but antiquated black suit, his face that of a forty-year-old human, only his eyes holding the weight of centuries. "71.3%. Dropping 0.02 percentage points per hour."
Kyle stood by the observation window, his fingers unconsciously tapping the frame. This habit he had learned in the 1920s on Wall Street—back then, humans called him "the Tapping Ghost" because in the trading pit, he would always unconsciously tap his fingers on the desk, and each tap heralded a precise investment.
"Is Switzerland ready?" His voice was level, but Lucien could hear the subtle tension in it—like a violin string tuned too tight.
"The Black Forest Clinic is on full lockdown. Dr. de La Tour and his team are standing by. Their new serum is said to slow the degeneration rate by 40%."
"Said to." Kyle repeated the words with a trace of barely perceptible mockery. "Three centuries of funding blood research, and what we get are more 'said to's."
A weak cough came from the medical bay.
Kyle passed through the partition door immediately. The iridescence from the crystal conduits played over Elias's pale face, making him look like a wax figure melting.
"Kyle..." His grandfather's eyes were half-open, the smoky grey pupils almost translucent in the gloom.
"I'm here." Kyle took his hand. The Nightkind's body temperature was naturally low, but Elias's hand was as cold as tomb marble.
"That girl..."
"Lily Thorne. I will find her." Kyle paused. "Why did you call her 'sunshine'?"
Elias's lips curved into a weak smile. "Because... she was the first human who didn't know who I was, yet took off her own coat for me." He closed his eyes, as if recalling the scene. "The rain was so cold, she was soaked through... yet she gave the only dry thing to me. Then she held my hand, kept talking... her voice was like..."
"Like what?"
"Like the taste of sunshine in memory." Elias's voice grew fainter. "I've lived 312 years, Kyle. Seen countless acts of kindness and cruelty. But never has anyone... purely on instinct..."
His voice faded into the gentle hum of the medical equipment.
Kyle kept holding his hand until he was certain his grandfather had slipped back into restorative sleep. He walked to the other side of the cabin and opened a sandalwood box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Inside were dozens of phones—different eras, different models, from the wired telephone of 1910 to the latest folding screen. He picked one up and dialed his New York office.
"Ava, I need a full profile on a person. Lily Thorne, approximately 22, New York local, likely residing in Brooklyn or Queens. Present near St. Vincent's Hospital yesterday afternoon." Kyle paused. "Use Tier Three resources."
On the other end, his executive assistant Ava Chen drew a sharp breath. "Tier Three? Sir, that means—"
"I know what it means." Kyle interrupted. "Activate facial recognition matching on citywide surveillance, access all hospital records, including deleted ones. Track any payment method she might have used. I want results in 48 hours."
"If human authorities detect—"
"Then don't be detected."
After hanging up, Kyle looked out the window. The sea of clouds below was like a silver wilderness under the moonlight. Somewhere beneath, the black waters of the Atlantic swallowed the starlight.
That girl with the scent of sunshine—what was she doing right now?