The Cathedral of St. Jude was fairly large.
It was neutral ground, a sanctuary protected by High Council treaties that dated back to the Unification of humans and mythical creatures. To spill blood here was not just a crime; it was a suicide note.
Which was exactly why Lucian had brought no personal squad.
There was no armored convoy, no display of House dominance.
Instead, a single, nondescript black sedan—unmarked and unregistered—slipped into the shadow of the cathedral's parking lot.
Four men stepped out into the midnight air.
They wore heavy overcoats, their silhouettes blurring against the darkness. No House insignias. No formal identification.
"Quiet," Lucian murmured.
He stopped at the side access door, a rusted iron portal hidden behind a row of stone saints.
