[DIANA]
The call came through Eddie's emergency line at 11:17 PM on a Thursday in January.
Diana was in her quarters reviewing correspondence when the Silver Dollar's internal alert system—three short pulses on the intercom, Sam's signal for priority intelligence—pulled her to the conference room. She arrived to find Eddie already at the table, notebook open, phone on speaker.
"—confirmed. Multiple witnesses. The Compton residence, outside Bon Temps. Signs of forced entry, overturned furniture. No body recovered, but blood evidence at the scene is inconsistent with a standard vampire altercation." The voice on the speaker was female—one of Eddie's human contacts, a crime scene investigator who moonlighted as an information source for vampires who paid better than the parish. "The sheriff's department is treating it as a missing person. But the blood patterns—someone was dragged. And there are animal tracks. Large canine, probably. Multiple sets."
"Werewolves," Eddie said, his pen moving.
"That's above my pay grade, Mr. Eddie. I'm telling you what I see. Human-adjacent force applied to a vampire's residence. Large animal involvement. No vampire remains, which means whoever was taken is still alive. Or as alive as your kind gets."
Sam entered the conference room. He'd been in the office—Diana had heard his footsteps above, the particular cadence of pacing that meant he was processing something significant before it became public. His expression was controlled, but the set of his shoulders carried information his face withheld.
"Bill Compton," he said. Not a question.
Eddie glanced up from the notebook. "How did you—"
"Bon Temps. Forced entry. Werewolf signs. Bill Compton is the most prominent vampire resident in that area. It's a reasonable deduction." Sam sat at the head of the table. "Continue."
The contact provided additional details—timeline, responding officers, media presence. Diana catalogued each data point against the political framework she'd been constructing since joining the organization.
Bill Compton. Vampire. Area 5 resident. Connected to Sookie Stackhouse, the human telepath who'd become a subject of fascination for every supernatural entity in Louisiana. Compton had recently been involved in the Dallas situation with Eric. His abduction by werewolves pointed directly at Mississippi—at Russell Edgington, whose pack served as both army and retrieval squad.
"This confirms the werewolf intelligence from last month," Diana said when the call ended. "Russell's people weren't just mobilizing—they had a specific target."
"Compton's value to Russell?" Elena asked from the doorway. She'd arrived during the briefing, positioning herself in her customary spot—close enough to participate, far enough to cover the exit.
"Multiple possibilities." Diana ticked them off. "Compton has a relationship with the Stackhouse woman, whose telepathy is valuable. He was recently in proximity to Godric and Eric—Russell may want intelligence about Dallas. And Compton's own bloodline might interest a collector of Russell's caliber."
"What do we do?" Marcus asked. He stood at the hallway entrance, blocking sight lines from the main bar—an unconscious security behavior that Elena had trained into him.
Sam's hands rested flat on the table. The posture Diana had learned to associate with decisions already made, being presented as conclusions rather than proposals.
"We offer intelligence to Eric. Through proper channels—formal communication, documented, professional. We share what we know about the werewolf movements. We do not offer resources, personnel, or direct involvement."
"Why not?" Diana asked. Not challenging—testing. She wanted to understand the logic.
"Because this situation involves Russell Edgington. Three thousand years old. King of Mississippi. An army of V-addicted werewolves. Whatever plays out will be violent, chaotic, and ultimately handled by vampires significantly more powerful than us." Sam's gaze moved to each person at the table—the particular inventory of a leader confirming his team's understanding. "Our value to Eric is intelligence, not muscle. We provide information. We stay alive. We position ourselves for the aftermath."
Diana accepted the reasoning. It was sound—strategically conservative, politically astute, and exactly the approach she'd have recommended if Sam hadn't arrived at it independently. The man's instincts for self-preservation were exceptional.
"I'll draft the communication to Eric," Diana offered. "Formal intelligence package. Werewolf movement data, timeline analysis, assessment of Mississippi connection. Attribution to our network, establishing our value as an intelligence asset."
"Do it. Eddie, compile everything from the last month. Stripped of source identification—protect our contacts."
"Already started." Eddie's pen hadn't stopped moving since the briefing began. The intelligence coordinator's capacity for simultaneous listening and documentation continued to impress Diana. Four months ago, this vampire couldn't form sentences. Now he was managing a six-parish network with the precision of a career intelligence officer.
The communication reached Eric's office within two hours. Diana drafted it in the formal register she'd perfected over two centuries of diplomatic correspondence—respectful, informative, and subtly positioning Sam as a resource worth cultivating.
Sheriff Northman — Per our standing arrangement, the Huffman Organization provides the following intelligence regarding recent werewolf activity in the Area 5 region. Movement patterns, timeline analysis, and circumstantial connections to the Compton incident are enclosed. We remain available for additional support at your discretion. — S. Huffman, per D. Cross
Eric's response arrived at 3:41 AM. Two lines.
Noted. Useful. Stand by.
And below, in what Diana suspected was a personal addition rather than an official communication:
Godric sends his regards.
Diana showed the message to Sam. His expression shifted—briefly, fractionally—into something that wasn't calculation or strategy. For a moment, he looked like a man who'd thrown a stone into deep water and heard it strike bottom.
"Godric remembers," Diana said.
"Godric remembers everything. He's two thousand years old."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it." She set the phone down. "He's alive because of you. That connection has weight. When this Mississippi situation resolves—and it will resolve, one way or another—Godric's relationship with you becomes a political asset of extraordinary value."
"I didn't save him for political value."
"I know. That's what makes the political value so potent." Diana allowed herself a rare smile. "Genuine selflessness is the most effective manipulation of all. Because it isn't manipulation."
Sam's response was a silence that carried more acknowledgment than words would have.
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