The caller ID burned into Gwen's vision like a brand: Colonel Steele. A man who had never called her during authorized leave unless the situation required immediate military response.
'Steele doesn't make social calls. If he's contacting me now, it means something has gone sideways at headquarters. Something that requires my specific expertise.'
She stared at the phone's glowing screen, watching the seconds tick by as the device continued its electronic insistence.
Six minutes until Kaine was scheduled to arrive.
Five minutes to decide whether her military obligations would derail the reunion she'd been planning days.
'Answer it and risk losing my only chance to reconnect with someone who actually mattered. Ignore it and risk consequences that could end my career and possibly my life.'
The phone rang again, and her finger moved to the accept button before conscious thought could intervene.
"Major Gwen," she answered, keeping her voice crisp and professional despite the internal chaos.
"Gwen, you're needed at headquarters immediately. Colonel Bernice Jax and Colonel Benedict Silas have arrived for an impromptu inspection of our operations. They've specifically requested your presence."
Gwen's stomach dropped. Jax and Silas were heavy hitters in the Shadow Guard hierarchy—the kind of senior officers who could make or break careers with a single recommendation. An unscheduled inspection meant either commendations for exceptional service or investigations into operational failures.
"Sir, I'm currently on authorized leave—"
"Not anymore. Report to headquarters, now. This is not a request, Major."
The line went dead before she could respond, leaving her staring at the phone's black screen while the coffee shop's morning bustle continued around her like life proceeding normally while her world rearranged itself.
'Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.'
She checked the time: 7:54 AM. Four minutes until Kaine was supposed to arrive, and she was being ordered to report to military headquarters immediately.
The ride to the Shadow Guard facility would take at least twenty minutes in morning traffic, assuming she could find a taxi willing to navigate the security checkpoints around the military district.
'I could refuse. Tell Steele I'm dealing with a family emergency or medical situation. But lying to a superior officer during an active inspection would be career suicide if they decided to verify my story.'
'But if I don't report to headquarters, I'll be facing disciplinary action from officers who have the authority to destroy my military career. And if I do report, Kaine will think Sarah Morgan is just another flaky civilian who can't keep appointments.'
She made her decision with the kind of cold calculation that had kept her alive through a decade of supernatural warfare. The military summons took priority—she could reschedule with Kaine, but she couldn't ignore direct orders from senior officers without facing consequences that would ripple through every aspect of her professional life.
'I'll go to headquarters, deal with whatever crisis has prompted this inspection, and then contact Kaine to reschedule. He's a professional investigator—he'll understand that emergency situations sometimes require schedule adjustments.'
Gwen gathered her leather portfolio and left the coffee shop with quick, efficient movements.
She flagged down a taxi with the kind of authoritative gesture that suggested someone accustomed to having transportation appear on demand.
"Shadow Guard headquarters," she told the driver, settling into the back seat as the vehicle pulled into traffic. "Priority destination—there's an extra twenty if you can get me there in fifteen minutes."
The driver's eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, taking in her military bearing and the subtle tension that marked someone responding to urgent orders. "You military?"
"Something like that."
"Hold on, then. I know some shortcuts the GPS doesn't."
The taxi wove through morning traffic with aggressive efficiency, the driver navigating city streets like a video game with financial stakes.
Gwen spent the journey calculating probabilities and contingencies, trying to anticipate what kind of inspection would require her specific presence during authorized leave.
Within some minutes they arrived, Gwen paid the taxi driver and approached the main entrance, her military identification clearing security with practiced efficiency.
The elevator carried her to the third floor, where Colonel Steele maintained his operational command center.
The hallway was lined with photographs of Shadow Guard operations—official documentation of humanity's ongoing war against supernatural threats, sanitized for public consumption but accurate enough to serve as memorials for those who'd died fighting things that most people believed were fictional.
She could hear voices from Steele's office before she reached the door—the kind of professional conversation that suggested senior officers discussing operational parameters and resource allocation. The words were indistinct, but the tone carried the weight of military authority and the underlying tension that marked discussions of life-and-death decisions.
'Showtime. Time to find out whether this impromptu inspection is about commendations or consequences.'
The office door was open, revealing three figures in military dress engaged in what appeared to be a formal review of operational documentation. Colonel Steele stood behind his desk, his expression carrying the kind of controlled tension that suggested someone managing multiple priorities simultaneously. The two visiting officers were positioned near the window, their body language suggesting professional courtesy mixed with investigative purpose.
Colonel Bernice Jax was exactly what Gwen had expected from reputation and previous encounters—a woman who'd earned her rank through exceptional competence in supernatural combat operations.
Late thirties, athletic build that suggested serious physical conditioning, and the kind of alert intelligence that marked someone who'd survived encounters with entities that treated human life as consumable resources. Her dark hair was pulled back in a regulation style, but her civilian clothes suggested this was an unofficial visit rather than formal military inspection.
'Jax has a reputation for being fair but ruthless. If she's here for an investigation, she'll find whatever truth exists regardless of who gets hurt in the process.'
Colonel Benedict Silas was older, more refined, with the kind of diplomatic bearing that suggested extensive experience in intelligence operations. His gray hair was precisely styled, his civilian clothes expensive but understated, and his pale eyes carried the analytical attention of someone who made his living by reading human behavior and detecting deception.
'Silas specializes in intelligence analysis and strategic planning. If he's here, it means this situation has implications beyond routine operational review.'
The three officers looked up as Gwen entered the office, their expressions shifting to acknowledge her presence. Steele's face showed relief mixed with professional irritation—grateful she'd responded to his summons, but clearly unhappy about having to recall her from authorized leave.
"Major Gwen," he said, his voice carrying the kind of formal authority that suggested official proceedings. "Thank you for responding so quickly to my summons."
"Sir," Gwen replied, maintaining military protocol despite her internal frustration about the timing. "I understand Colonels Jax and Silas requested my presence."
"Indeed we did," Jax said, stepping forward with the kind of confident movement that suggested someone comfortable with command authority. "We've been reviewing your recent operational reports, particularly your engagement with the Level 3 vampire nest in the industrial district."
"Yes, ma'am," Gwen replied. "Standard nest elimination. Three confirmed kills."
"Major Gwen," Silas continued, "we're here because your operational record represents exactly the kind of field expertise we need for an upcoming assignment. Something that requires both combat experience and the ability to work independently in civilian environments."
Gwen felt her attention sharpen despite her frustration about the interrupted meeting. High-level assignments usually meant significant operational responsibility, advanced resources, and the kind of professional recognition that could accelerate career advancement.
"What kind of assignment, sir?"
"Intelligence gathering and potential combat operations in an urban environment," Jax replied. "We've received reports of unusual supernatural activity in the metropolitan area—not just routine vampire nests or demon cult activity, but something that suggests organized supernatural elements with significant resources and planning capability."
'Organized supernatural elements. That could mean anything from vampire crime syndicates to demonic corporations. The kind of operation that requires months of investigation and the potential for significant casualties.'
"The preliminary intelligence suggests we're dealing with entities that have integrated themselves into legitimate business and social structures," Silas added. "This isn't a simple search-and-destroy mission. It requires someone who can operate in civilian environments while maintaining cover and gathering intelligence on targets that may have extensive human resources and political connections."
Steele stepped forward, his expression suggesting someone who'd been dealing with pressure from multiple directions. "The Colonels specifically requested you for this operation based on your proven ability to handle complex supernatural threats while maintaining operational security."
Gwen glanced at her phone discretely—8:15 AM. Kaine had been waiting at the coffee shop for fifteen minutes, and she had no way to contact him without revealing her actual identity and military affiliation.
'Shit. He's probably already left, assuming Sarah Morgan is just another flaky civilian who can't keep appointments.'
"Major," Jax said, noticing her brief distraction, "is there something else that requires your immediate attention?"
"No, ma'am," Gwen replied, forcing herself to focus on the conversation despite her internal frustration. "I'm fully available for whatever operational requirements you need."
"Excellent," Silas said. "We'll be conducting detailed briefings over the next several days, but I wanted to meet with you personally to discuss the assignment parameters and ensure you're prepared for the level of responsibility involved."
The conversation continued for another twenty minutes, covering operational timelines, resource allocation, and the kind of bureaucratic details that accompanied high-level military assignments.
Gwen participated with professional attention, asking appropriate questions and providing relevant input, but part of her mind remained focused on the missed meeting and the growing certainty that she'd lost her chance to reconnect with Kaine Cross.
When the colonels finally concluded their initial briefing, Gwen found herself committed to a new assignment that would require her full attention for the foreseeable future. The kind of operation that left no room for personal complications or unauthorized civilian contacts.
She left the headquarters building with a mixture of professional satisfaction and personal frustration, her mind already calculating how to salvage the situation with Kaine while maintaining her military obligations.
'I can call him and apologize. Explain that something urgent came up and request a rescheduling. He's a professional investigator—he'll understand that emergency situations sometimes require schedule adjustments.'
The taxi ride back toward the coffee shop district gave her time to compose an appropriate explanation that would preserve her civilian cover while acknowledging the scheduling conflict. She pulled out her phone and dialed Kaine's number, rehearsing the conversation as the device connected.
"Mr. Cross? This is Sarah Morgan. I'm calling to apologize for missing our scheduled meeting this morning."
---
Kaine Cross stood outside Meridian Grounds at exactly 8:00 AM, his enhanced senses automatically cataloging the morning environment for potential threats and tactical considerations.
The coffee shop was busy with the usual morning crowd—young professionals grabbing caffeine before work, university students claiming tables for extended study sessions, and the occasional business meeting conducted over expensive beverages and careful conversation.
He'd cleaned up from the night's activities, trading his torn and blood-stained clothing for a dark jacket and jeans that looked civilian but allowed for full range of movement. His appearance suggested someone who might work in private security or law enforcement—professional but not threatening, alert but not obviously armed.
Marcus stood fifteen feet away, positioned where he could observe both the coffee shop's entrance and the surrounding street traffic.
The Ghoul's pale eyes tracked pedestrian movement with mechanical precision, cataloging potential threats and escape routes with the kind of supernatural awareness that made him an ideal early warning system.
'Sarah Morgan said she'd be wearing a blue jacket and carrying a brown leather portfolio. Should be easy enough to spot in a crowd of coffee-dependent office workers and sleep-deprived students.'
Kaine entered the coffee shop and conducted a casual survey of the interior, looking for anyone who matched his client's description.
No blue jacket. No brown leather portfolio. No one who looked like they were waiting for a meeting with a private investigator.
'Eight-fifteen. Fifteen minutes late. Could be traffic, could be civilian time management issues, could be something more complicated.'
His phone rang at 8:18, the display showing Sarah Morgan's number. Kaine answered on the second ring, keeping his voice professional but neutral.
"Kaine Cross."
"Mr. Cross? This is Sarah Morgan. I'm calling to apologize for missing our scheduled meeting this morning."
The woman's voice carried genuine distress mixed with professional embarrassment—the kind of emotional combination that suggested legitimate circumstances rather than deliberate deception.
But Kaine's enhanced senses picked up something else beneath the surface: controlled tension that suggested someone managing multiple priorities simultaneously.
"What happened, Ms. Morgan?"
"Something urgent came up—a family emergency that required my immediate attention. I know this is unprofessional."
"I appreciate you calling to explain," he said. "When were you thinking of rescheduling?"
"I'm already on my way back. I know it's another imposition, but I'm genuinely worried about my friend, and I don't want to delay getting help for her."
"That could work," Kaine replied. "Just..."
His attention snapped to the street outside as his supernatural senses detected something that made his blood turn cold.
A black sedan was moving slowly through the morning traffic, its occupants invisible behind tinted windows. But the supernatural aura radiating from the vehicle was unlike anything he'd encountered in twelve years of hunting vampires.
[DEATH SIGHT - EXTREME THREAT DETECTED]
[CLASSIFICATION: VAMPIRE - ORIGIN CLASS UNKNOWN]
[POWER LEVEL: BEYOND MEASUREMENT SCALE]
The blue text painted across his enhanced vision carried information that should have been impossible. Vampires above third generation were extremely rare, and anything approaching Original status was supposed to be theoretical rather than operational.
But the aura emanating from the sedan's interior was old, powerful, and radiating the kind of predatory awareness that marked something that had been perfecting the art of hunting humans for centuries.
'What the fuck is that thing doing driving through morning traffic like it's heading to a business meeting?'
Kaine instinctively moved toward the front entrance. The sedan was proceeding slowly through the intersection, its movement suggesting systematic patrol rather than routine transportation.
"Ms. Morgan," he said into the phone, his voice carrying the kind of distracted attention that marked someone dealing with urgent priorities. "I'm sorry, but I need to handle something else right now. I'll call you back to confirm our rescheduling."
"Mr. Cross, wait—"
He ended the call and stepped outside, his enhanced senses tracking the sedan's progress through the urban environment. The vehicle was moving with deliberate precision, its occupants conducting what appeared to be active surveillance of the surrounding area.
'Either that thing is hunting someone specific, or it's conducting reconnaissance for something larger. Either way, I need to know what it's doing in my territory.'