The yellow spot from the desk lamp that had been burning all night now looked alien and pathetic, like a candle someone had forgotten to extinguish after dawn.
No one was moving.
Roy stood by the tall window, legs slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back. His silhouette looked as if it had been cut out of dark paper against the glass.
He was staring down at the street, still wet from the night's rain, but he barely saw the cars or the occasional pedestrians. His gaze was fixed somewhere much further away, to where a new game had already begun.
Richard sat at the head of the long table. His fingers were clasped so tightly that he didn't even want to change the position.
Only a very attentive observer would have noticed the faint tremor in the tendon of his right hand.
Michael was the first to break.
He slowly, almost theatrically, straightened up in his chair. He ran his palm over the stubble on his chin; the sound was dry and rasping. Then he lowered his hand and spoke, his voice low:
"There's one problem."
Roy didn't turn fully, only tilted his head slightly so that his profile became visible in the gray light.
"Only one?" Roy said quietly, with light mockery.
Michael didn't rise to the provocation. He tapped his index finger on the polished surface of the table once, twice, three times.
"We can't do this ourselves. We'd only end up hurting ourselves."
Richard raised an eyebrow just a fraction, a movement so small it could almost be missed.
"Afraid to get your hands dirty?"
Michael answered with a smile, though the remark had slightly thrown him off balance.
"I'm not afraid. I just don't see the point."
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.
"If we start hunting them personally, it'll be too loud. Anna is already balancing on the edge."
"One more wrong step and she'll realize we're moving against her too."
"Then everything will become… uncontrollably messy."
Gérard, sitting slightly off to the side in the shadows, gave a single slow nod. As if he were agreeing not with the statement itself, but with the fact that it was inevitable.
Michael continued, now looking directly at Roy:
"That's why I'm suggesting a different path."
Roy finally turned away from the window. He pivoted his whole body. Something dark and almost mocking flashed in his eyes.
"Of course you are."
Michael didn't look away.
"I have a hunter."
The silence grew even thicker, as if someone had suddenly sucked some of the air out of the room.
Richard slowly tilted his head to the side, a gesture that was almost feline.
"Which one exactly?"
The corner of Michael's mouth twitched into a faint smile.
"The very one."
Roy let out a short, dry chuckle.
"You're serious…"
Michael continued calmly, without a trace of emotion:
"A vampire."
Gérard moved for the first time in a long while. His face briefly lost its usual composure.
"The one you sent to look for them after someone broke into Ethan's house?" he asked quietly.
Michael nodded.
"Yes."
Now the silence wasn't just heavy it had become viscous.
Roy shook his head, as if trying to shake off a hallucination.
"If you let him off the leash again… he'll turn it into a slaughter."
"That's exactly why we need him," Michael cut in sharply.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"Right now, only the result matters."
Richard was silent for a long time. Then he slowly exhaled through his nose.
"Where is he now?"
"Not far," Michael shrugged, as if they were talking about pizza delivery.
"Still following their trail."
Roy spoke almost soundlessly:
"It will be a meat grinder."
"Sometimes a meat grinder is the fastest way," Michael replied calmly.
Gérard looked up.
"And the consequences? Will you be the one cleaning up after your little dog, or what?"
"What consequences?" Michael narrowed his eyes slightly.
"The kind we'll have to sweep up for a month."
Michael only spread his hands slightly.
"Well, this time we need it."
Richard exhaled again. Slower this time.
"Perhaps."
He paused, staring into the empty space in front of him. Then he said, almost in a whisper:
"But I prefer precision."
Michael frowned.
"Do you have another option?"
Richard slowly turned his head toward the dark corner of the room where the light barely reached.
"Yes."
And he uttered a single word:
"Morwen."
The name dropped into the space like a stone into a deep well. Its echo spread through the room, inaudible, yet palpable.
Roy turned sharply.
"You want to send him?"
Richard nodded, a short, final movement.
"He's done this kind of thing before."
Gérard frowned deeper.
"Morwen doesn't take 'loud' jobs."
"That's exactly why he's perfect."
Richard stood up.
The movement was smooth, almost lazy, and because of that, especially dangerous. He walked over to the table and placed both palms on it.
"No panic. He'll do it very cleanly. No one will even ask questions."
Michael let out a quiet, almost admiring chuckle.
"Well said."
Richard didn't reply. He only slightly turned his head toward the door.
"He's closer than you think."
And at that very second, footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Those footsteps carried a wild thirst for killing.
The door opened without a knock.
In the doorway appeared a tall, very lean figure in a long dark coat. The light from the corridor fell on his back, leaving his face in shadow.