The abandoned hangar Dickon Frost had mentioned over the phone sat beside the old terminal at JFK, a forgotten relic swallowed by the airport's later expansion. When the new terminals went up and the runways were widened, this structure had simply been left behind, stripped and hollowed out like a carcass picked clean. There was nothing inside now. Even the exposed steel beams along the walls had been partially cut away, leaving jagged scars where industry once stood.
Locke parked outside and stepped out of the vehicle, letting the door shut with a muted thud. He took a slow look around, scanning every angle with casual thoroughness. The hangar was empty, its concrete floor layered with dust and scattered trash that the wind had pushed in over time. From just outside the wide entrance, you could see planes taking off and landing on the runway not far away, their engines roaring like distant thunder.
He tilted his head back and looked at the sky. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, painting everything in warm orange light. Then he glanced at his watch.
There were still thirty minutes before the appointed time.
Locke slipped a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the flame briefly flaring against the growing dusk. He took a slow drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs before releasing it in a thin stream. As he stood there, his thoughts drifted back to something that had just happened earlier.
Blade had killed that blood servant.
And the System had awarded extraordinary points for it.
That didn't make sense at first glance. Ordinary humans who willingly served vampires couldn't reasonably be considered extraordinary beings. By all logic, they were still just humans. Yet the System had counted the kill.
Which meant there was only one possibility.
In the System's judgment, ordinary humans who served extraordinary creatures were classified within that ecosystem. Eliminating them still generated extraordinary points.
If that was true, then…
That was excellent.
Locke's lips curved slightly as the realization settled in. A loophole in classification was still a rule, and rules were meant to be exploited.
At that moment, static crackled in his earpiece.
"Boss," Debbie's voice came through from the operations center, tight with urgency. "We've got movement. The target's been found."
Locke raised an eyebrow, keeping his tone level. "Confirmed?"
"Not fully. The satellite can't see inside the vehicle. Special coating on the windows. The image is distorted."
"That's him," Locke said without hesitation.
He lifted his gaze to the ceiling of the hangar and smiled faintly. Then he flicked the cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it beneath his shoe.
Ten minutes later, the distinctive low growl of a Mercedes-Benz engine rolled in from outside. It cut through the quiet like a blade. A sleek black sedan eased into view, its body reflecting almost no light, as if it absorbed the sunset rather than shining under it.
Locke watched, expecting the car to glide directly into the hangar.
Instead, it stopped at the entrance.
For a second, everything was still.
Then the rear door opened.
A young man in a tailored black suit stepped out and straightened under the fading sunlight. He looked about the same age as Locke, his features sharp and controlled, his expression cold. Even the way he stood carried deliberate composure.
Dickon Frost.
The vampire leader of New York City.
Locke narrowed his eyes slightly. Pure-blood vampires had no way to negate the lethal effects of ultraviolet radiation. That was a law as fundamental as gravity in their world. And yet here Frost stood, bathed in the golden light of sunset, completely unharmed.
Something was off.
Locke let his senses expand, reading the energy coming off Frost. The power was there, unmistakable, but it wasn't overwhelming. Logically, it shouldn't have been enough to defy the curse of sunlight.
Which meant…
His gaze dropped subtly to Frost's right hand.
On the ring finger sat a ring that pulsed with a faint, unfamiliar fluctuation. The energy radiating from it was subtle but distinct, spreading outward in a barely perceptible layer that wrapped around Frost like a shield.
So that's it.
Interesting.
Locke shifted his eyes back to Frost's face. Under the warm glow of the setting sun, Frost calmly began fastening the remaining buttons of his suit jacket. He did it slowly, almost as if savoring the act of dressing beneath sunlight that should have burned him alive.
When he finished, he looked into the hangar and spotted Locke.
The cold mask on his face shifted instantly into a polished, formulaic smile.
Locke mirrored it.
Frost walked in with measured steps. When he was about ten paces away, he extended his right hand.
"Mr. Underwood," he said smoothly, "I finally meet you. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Frost," Locke replied with equal ease.
They shook hands.
The moment their palms made contact, a flicker of surprise flashed across Frost's carefully composed expression. It lasted less than a second before turning into confusion and then vanishing entirely beneath practiced control.
Locke saw it.
Interesting.
Just before arriving, he had used the Ultimate Evolution Module to suppress certain traits. He had stripped away the Nightcrawler adaptation he'd layered in earlier, restored a steady heartbeat, normalized body temperature. To any casual observation, he was human.
And yet Frost had felt something.
Can he detect residual traces that quickly?
Locke withdrew his hand calmly, his expression unchanged. Frost's smile returned to its prior form, almost too perfect. As Locke's hand lowered, Frost's gaze shifted.
He was looking at Locke's left hand.
Specifically, the ring on his ring finger.
It was a diamond ring, black metal with a single dark stone set in the center. Under the fading light, it reflected no sparkle, only depth.
Locke was married. Wearing a wedding ring on that finger was normal.
But Frost's attention lingered a fraction too long.
"Your wedding ring is rather unique, Mr. Underwood," Frost said lightly.
Locke glanced down at it, then back up. His voice remained even. "It was given to me by my wife during our vows. A family heirloom."
Esme had slid it onto his finger herself. That memory remained sharp and untouchable.
Why is he focusing on that?
A faint chill crept through Locke's thoughts. Was Frost probing? Or threatening?
Locke's eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly. He let his gaze drift down to the ring on Frost's hand instead, and his smile deepened just slightly.
"Your ring seems more special," Locke said. "I wonder what would happen if someone removed it."
Frost's eyebrows lifted.
The air between them tightened.
"This ring holds personal meaning," Frost replied smoothly. "I won't be taking it off. Of course, no one can make me."
"Really?" Locke asked.
"Of course."
"I don't believe that."
Their smiles never faded.
They stood facing each other under the open hangar ceiling, the sunset bleeding into twilight behind Frost. Locke was certain of one thing: the ring on Frost's hand was the source of his ability to stand in sunlight.
And he was equally certain of something else.
When Frost had looked at his wedding ring, it hadn't been casual curiosity.
It had been a warning.
You have a wife.
Very good.
You've just identified your own cause of death.
The thought moved through Locke's mind with icy clarity. If Frost had even considered leveraging Esme as a weakness, then that sealed it. There would be no negotiation. No coexistence.
The smile on Locke's face grew a shade warmer.
Frost's smile brightened as well.
Because he had confirmed something.
The man standing before him was likely one of his kind.
The scent was faint, nearly concealed, but not entirely absent. Frost had been turned by a pure-blood vampire, placing him above mixed-bloods but beneath the true originals. His senses were refined enough to detect subtle anomalies.
He didn't understand why Locke's aura was so restrained, so diluted.
But it had to be that ring.
It was masking something.
...
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