Chapter 15

Most of my wardrobe consisted of black clothing—suits, trousers, simple shirts that spoke of function over frivolity. I selected a crisp white button-down and paired it with black tailored trousers, the fabric falling in clean lines that I'd always preferred. There was something about the stark simplicity of a well-cut suit that appealed to me, the way it conveyed authority without excess, the way black absorbed light rather than reflecting it. I pulled my hair back into a simple knot at the nape of my neck, the movement automatic after centuries of habit.

My fingers found the black umbrella leaning against my bedside table, and I paused to brush away the thin layer of dust that had accumulated on its handle. It had been so long since I'd ventured out during daylight hours that even my emergency sun protection had begun to gather neglect. The umbrella was a concession to practicality rather than preference—I could walk in sunlight if I chose to, but the constant irritation of UV rays on my skin was tedious and uncomfortable, like wearing wool against bare flesh for hours on end. Without the driving need to hunt for fresh human blood, I'd fallen into the comfortable rhythm of nocturnal existence, wandering my forest domain when the moon rose and sleeping through the burning hours when the sun claimed the sky.

Jinx remained curled on the other side of my bed, her small body rising and falling with the deep, even breaths of profound sleep. I had no idea what time she'd returned last night, just as she would have no awareness of when I departed this afternoon. We were alike in that way, both of us capable of sleeping for extraordinary lengths of time, though her rest seemed even more complete than mine, perhaps benefiting from the fact that her body had been so young when she was transformed. I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, feeling the warmth of her fur against my lips, and she didn't stir even slightly at the contact.

The journey to Lysander's apartment took less time than I'd anticipated, even accounting for the need to park several blocks away and approach on foot beneath the dubious shelter of my umbrella. The afternoon sun beat down on the French Quarter with relentless intensity, turning the air thick and heavy with moisture that clung to every surface. I could feel the heat trying to penetrate the fabric of my umbrella, could sense the way my skin prickled with faint discomfort wherever stray beams of light managed to find exposed flesh. It was annoying rather than painful, but it reinforced why I'd chosen to live as I did, why I'd built my sanctuary deep in the swamp where sunlight filtered through layers of Spanish moss and cypress branches before ever reaching the ground.

When I finally located his building, I moved to the front window of what I knew to be his apartment and peered through the gap in the curtains. The interior was dark and still, no sign of movement inside. Empty. He hadn't returned yet, probably still at work or perhaps taking the long way home, dreading what might be waiting for him after last night's encounter. I checked the time on my phone—just after six in the evening. If he worked a typical corporate schedule, he should be arriving soon.

Rather than wait outside in the oppressive heat, I made my way around to the back of the building where a larger window overlooked a narrow alley filled with dumpsters and abandoned furniture. The window was old, the kind with a simple latch that hadn't been upgraded in decades, and it took me only seconds to work my fingers into the gap and push it open from the outside. I climbed through with practiced ease, my movements smooth and silent as I dropped into what appeared to be Lysander's living area.

The apartment was exactly as shabby as I'd expected—cramped and poorly ventilated, with furniture that looked like it had been salvaged from various thrift stores and assembled without any thought for aesthetic coherence. But it was clean, I noticed with some surprise, the surfaces wiped down and the floor recently swept, and there was a desperate attempt at homeyness in the few decorative touches scattered around the space. A potted plant on the windowsill that was somehow still alive despite the heat, a framed photograph of what looked like a college graduation, a throw blanket draped over the back of a sagging couch in an attempt to hide the worst of the upholstery stains.

The air inside was stifling, the kind of oppressive heat that built up over a day of direct sunlight with no circulation to alleviate it. His sweat must have dried on his skin all day in this heat, I thought, imagining how uncomfortable he must have been. I located the air conditioning unit mounted in one window and examined its controls, finding the remote tucked beside it on a shelf. I switched it on and set the temperature to something that would actually make a difference, feeling the machine shudder to life with a mechanical groan that suggested it was on its last legs. Cool air began to trickle out, not nearly fast enough to combat the accumulated heat but at least making an effort. He would appreciate the relief when he returned, surely. The thought of his gratitude made something warm bloom in my chest.

I moved to the front window and peered through a gap in the curtains, looking down at the street below. The curtains themselves were thin and sun-faded, doing little to block the light, so I pulled them fully closed to both shield the interior from the worst of the afternoon glare and to prevent anyone outside from potentially spotting me inside Lysander's apartment. Then I settled in to wait, positioning myself where I could watch the door.

The minutes stretched on, and I found myself examining his living space more closely. Everything spoke of someone trying to maintain dignity in difficult circumstances—books stacked neatly on a makeshift shelf, dishes washed and put away in the tiny kitchenette, clothes folded in a laundry basket waiting to be put away. It was the home of someone who refused to let poverty define him, who maintained standards even when no one was watching.

Finally, I heard footsteps in the hallway outside, accompanied by the familiar jingle of keys.