Adrian read the address.
'Wetland Hotels. Room 402. Floor 7.'
He paused for half a second.
"That same building?" he asked.
Mr. Moon, his boss, shrugged. "Paid already. Go home from there. I'll finish things off from here."
It was a building meant for high-class society — people who had no business ordering from a restaurant like theirs, miles away. But the orders always came, and Adrian never questioned them.
He just needed to get this over with and get home to his mother.
He nodded and took the bag. Three takeout orders. Heavy. He checked the seal twice before heading out.
The building was downtown, a three-hour drive on foot, but Adrian arrived much earlier with the restaurant's delivery bike.
He glanced up at the fifteen floors and noticed the lights still on near the top. The building was polished to look unwelcoming, the kind that never advertised who owned it. Adrian entered through the service entrance, nodding at the guard who barely glanced at him.
Inside, the air was cooler than usual. Too quiet.
The elevator panel flickered when he pressed the button. Nothing happened.
"Maintenance," a janitor nearby said. "Been down since morning."
There wasn't supposed to be a janitor there that late, but Adrian ignored it.
He exhaled through his nose and looked at the stairwell sign. Time was already tight.
He took the stairs.
By the third floor, his arm ached from holding the bag steady. He adjusted his grip and kept going. On the sixth floor, voices drifted down the stairwell. Low. Controlled. Not arguing.
Adrian slowed.
He didn't stop immediately. That would attract attention if the people ahead were trained. He took two more steps before pausing.
The voices weren't raised.
That was what made them dangerous.
The address was only one floor above, and the stairwell led directly past the source of the sound.
He moved carefully. Soundlessly.
At the landing, the hallway stretched out wide and clean, lights dimmed, one door half-closed. Adrian got close to the door and then;
Then the gunshot rang out.
The sound cracked through the space and settled into his bones before his mind caught up. Adrian froze. His breath stalled halfway in.
He didn't run.
He stepped back into the shadow of a column, heart hammering hard enough to hurt. The smell of gunpowder hit him, sharp and nauseating.
Footsteps moved. Voices murmured.
"Clear."
Adrian didn't move.
He knew he needed to leave but his body refused to obey him.
The sound of lock sliding into place echoed followed by silence.
Adrian stayed where he was, the paper bag clutched to his chest, grease soaking through and burning his skin. He counted his breath to stay focused. One Two Three…
Then a voice cut through the quiet.
"Come out."
It wasn't loud and honestly it didn't need to be.
"I won't repeat myself."
Adrian swallowed and stepped forward into the light.
The man waiting for him was young. Younger than expected from the way he had spoken earlier. His calm didn't offer comfort. His gaze flicked to the bag, to Adrian's hands, to his face.
Looking at his features, it was obvious.
The man was a vampire.