The private office of the Black House estate was a bit quiet now.
Lucian stood behind his desk, his silhouette cutting a line against the floor-to-ceiling glass. Marrok stood to his left, his arms crossed over his vest, his face a map of suppressed violence. Valerius was perched on the edge of a side table, his tablet glowing against his pale features.
A call came in from one of Marrok's right hand men. He was at the side talking.
"It's not a theft," Marrok growled, tapping a blunt finger against a holographic map, immediately the call ended. "A major blood-transport shipment—Type O-Negative, high-purity synthetic—was rerouted three hours ago. It was supposed to hit the Vanguard's distribution hub. Instead, the transponders went dark the moment the convoy crossed into the Neutral Zone, specifically through the corridors controlled by the Sanguine Syndicate."
"Did they seize the trucks?" Lucian asked. His voice was a low vibration, devoid of heat.
