When you move in the underworld, there's only one rule that matters.
Don't flinch.
Be soft once, and you'll be tested forever. Show hesitation, and predators circle. Good men get pushed around. Good horses get ridden into the ground.
Dicken Frost had left his card four times.
That wasn't subtle.
If Locke didn't respond, the message would be simple: he was afraid.
He was a senior agent of the Sentinel Special Service. Afraid of a vampire who slept in a coffin and hid from daylight?
Ridiculous.
After he finished speaking, he took out his phone and dialed the number printed on the card.
If it was going to happen, it would happen face-to-face.
Let's see who blinks first.
The call connected quickly.
"Hello."
The voice on the other end was low and slightly hoarse. Young, but edged with something sharp. Calculated.
Locke and Brown had the phone on speaker. They exchanged a glance.
Locke spoke evenly. "Dicken Frost."
A pause.
"…Who is this?"
Locke rotated the business card between his fingers. "You left this in four apartments. You really need to ask?"
Another pause.
Recognition settled in.
High above Manhattan, inside a luxury high-rise overlooking the city, Dicken Frost shifted.
He wore gray silk pajamas. Two vampire attendants—one Black, one white—had been draped lazily across him. He pushed them aside without looking, rose from the bed, and walked barefoot across polished marble floors.
He took the phone in his right hand, rings catching the light, and stepped toward the towering French windows in the living area.
With a smooth motion, he drew the curtains open.
Sunlight flooded the platform.
And nothing happened.
Frost stood in the full blaze of noon, unburned.
He narrowed his eyes slightly and switched the phone to his other hand, idly rotating the ring on his finger.
"Mr. Locke Underwood," he said smoothly. "Sentinel Special Service."
Locke smiled faintly. "You left the card. I assumed you knew who you were calling."
Frost chuckled.
"Of course. I simply enjoy confirming things."
"I'm sure you do."
"I'd like to make friends, Mr. Underwood."
Locke didn't answer immediately. He let the silence stretch just enough to communicate disbelief.
Frost continued, tone turning conversational. "Since you're aware of the extraordinary world, you must also be familiar with the covenant between our world and yours."
Locke's eyes sharpened slightly.
The Supernatural–Mundane Covenant.
Natasha had mentioned it during intelligence exchanges.
It wasn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. contract alone. After World War II, the five global powers had entered into an understanding with the broader extraordinary community. The primary architect had been one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s founders—Peggy Carter.
Back then, Captain America's reputation carried weight in both worlds. And Carter had inherited some of that goodwill.
The terms were simple.
The extraordinary world acknowledged that the earth belonged politically to the five hegemonic nations.
The five powers acknowledged that supernatural beings had the right to exist on earth and would not be hunted without cause.
Mutual non-interference.
It had worked—for a time.
After Carter retired and S.H.I.E.L.D. distanced itself from the old Howling Commandos, cracks began to form. The Mutant Freedom Act in 1973 complicated matters further.
Were mutants extraordinary creatures?
Depending on who you asked—yes. Or no.
To certain supernatural factions, the Act was seen as a warning shot. If the ordinary world could legislate and constrain mutants today, what stopped them from doing the same to vampires tomorrow?
When the nest is overturned, no egg survives intact.
From that moment, the covenant had existed more in name than practice.
The supernatural world grew restless.
S.H.I.E.L.D. struggled to maintain balance.
The Sentinel Special Service watched carefully.
That was one reason Locke and Brown had been given so much operational latitude this past month. Headquarters in Washington saw opportunity.
Originally, Sentinel had not been created solely to monitor mutants. It had been envisioned as a regulatory body over the entire extraordinary spectrum operating on federal soil.
S.H.I.E.L.D., technically, was never formally authorized by Congress. It operated through multinational consensus. That made jurisdiction murky.
Sentinel wanted clarity.
Authority.
If vampires were destabilizing New York and S.H.I.E.L.D. appeared ineffective, Sentinel could argue for expanded mandate.
The larger the disruption, the stronger the case.
Locke remembered the quiet conversation he'd had with Director Walter Herman days earlier.
Cause pressure. Let events unfold.
Fish rise in troubled waters.
Frost's voice pulled him back.
"The covenant exists for a reason," Frost said smoothly. "You and your people are upsetting a balance."
Locke answered calmly. "Your people killed ours."
"That depends on perspective."
"No," Locke replied flatly. "It doesn't."
In his mind, the structure was simple.
Sentinel agents had entered properties with warrants. Official authority. Federal backing.
If someone opened fire, if someone attacked, the response was justified.
Self-defense didn't apply when law enforcement knocked.
"Five agents died," Locke continued. "We didn't start that."
There was a faint exhale on the other end.
"You've killed more than a hundred of mine in response," Frost said quietly.
"And I can keep going."
Brown stood beside Locke, silent but rigid.
Frost shifted his weight slightly in the sunlight.
"You misunderstand me," he said. "I'm not calling to threaten you. I'm calling because continued escalation benefits no one."
Locke's gaze hardened.
"You escalated first."
"And I'm offering de-escalation."
A beat of silence.
"What are you proposing?" Locke asked.
"A meeting."
"Public place?"
"Neutral ground."
Locke glanced at Brown. Brown's expression was carved in stone.
"Location?" Locke asked.
"I'll send it."
"And if it's a trap?"
Frost's voice almost smiled. "Then you can try to kill me."
Locke's mouth curved slightly.
"That would be interesting."
"Indeed."
A pause lingered between them, charged but controlled.
"Mr. Underwood," Frost added, voice dropping half a tone, "we both understand that sunlight doesn't scare everyone."
Locke's eyes flicked toward the business card again.
"And we both understand," he replied evenly, "that federal authority isn't afraid of the dark."
The line went quiet for a second.
Then Frost said softly, "I'll be in touch."
The call ended.
The apartment felt heavier in the silence that followed.
Brown looked at Locke. "You really want to do this?"
Locke slipped the phone back into his jacket.
"Yes."
Brown exhaled slowly. "You think this helps us?"
Locke met his eyes.
"We're soldiers," he repeated.
"And he's a thief."
He turned toward the shattered doorway, sunlight pouring in behind him.
"If he wants to talk," Locke said calmly, "we talk."
...
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