Vienna, Austria

Blackthorn Hall had been a monastery long before the Order turned it into a fortress.

You could still tell in the quieter parts of the building.

The ceilings remained too high.

The hallways carried sound too easily.

Candles still burned in iron brackets despite the hidden security systems embedded behind centuries-old stone.

The Church liked pretending modernity had never touched it.

Seraphina stepped through the front gates just after noon with dried train rain still clinging faintly to the hem of her coat. Two guards opened the inner doors without speaking.

Neither smiled.

They rarely did here.

A few younger recruits crossing the main corridor glanced toward her immediately before looking away again.

Word traveled fast inside Blackthorn.

By now everyone had heard some version of Prague.

The massacre.

The First Vampire.

Commander Van Helsing surviving direct contact with Lucien Valerius.

Fear turned people into storytellers.

Seraphina kept walking.

Her boots echoed steadily against polished stone floors as she passed beneath towering stained-glass windows depicting hunters driving silver spears through kneeling monsters.

When she was younger, those windows used to comfort her.

Now she mostly noticed how much blood the artists painted into them.

—

The briefing chamber sat beneath the old cathedral wing.

Windowless.

Circular.

Designed centuries ago so confessions could not escape easily.

Six senior officers already occupied the chamber when she entered.

Black uniforms.

Silver insignias.

The familiar smell of paper, incense, and old leather.

At the center of the room stood Father Aldric.

He looked exactly the same as he had three months ago.

Exactly the same as he had five years ago, honestly.

Tall. Elegant. Gray beginning to touch the edges of dark hair at his temples. Calm eyes that missed absolutely nothing.

Some priests weaponized warmth.

Aldric weaponized gentleness.

“Commander Van Helsing,” he said smoothly as she approached the table. “You look tired.”

“I took the night train.”

“That explains the mood.”

A few officers smiled faintly at that.

Seraphina didn’t.

She placed her file folder onto the table instead.

“Four confirmed victims in Prague. Ritual markings inconsistent with known vampire feeding patterns. Evidence suggests relic-related activity.”

One of the older officers frowned immediately. “But Lucien Valerius was present.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And presence isn’t guilt.”

Silence settled briefly across the chamber.

Not hostile yet.

Just cautious.

Aldric folded his hands loosely behind his back. “You believe someone staged the massacre.”

“I believe someone wanted us to blame vampires before the investigation finished.”

“And why would they?”

Seraphina slid photographs across the table.

Close-ups of the carved symbols.

One officer visibly stiffened after seeing them.

There.

She noticed it instantly.

Recognition.

Small, but real.

“Those markings,” she said carefully, “match containment doctrine from restricted archives.”

The room grew noticeably quieter.

Aldric’s expression remained composed, though she saw the briefest pause before he answered.

“You accessed restricted archives?”

“Years ago.”

“You were not authorized.”

“I remember them anyway.”

That almost sounded like disapproval around the table.

Almost.

The problem with competence inside the Order was that people admired it until it became inconvenient.

One of the senior hunters leaned forward. “Containment for what exactly?”

“That’s what I’d like clarified.”

Nobody answered immediately.

Instead, Aldric moved slowly toward the far side of the chamber where sunlight filtered weakly through narrow cathedral slits high above the stone walls.

He looked thoughtful.

Measured.

Like a man deciding which version of the truth served him best.

Finally, he spoke.

“Several centuries ago, Church records documented attempts to seal certain… entities beneath major European holy sites.”

“Entities?”

“Pre-vampiric aberrations.”

That phrase sounded rehearsed.

Seraphina noticed because her father used to do the same thing whenever he lied publicly — smoothing complicated truths into cleaner language before speaking.

“What kind of aberrations?” she asked.

“Dead ones,” Aldric replied mildly.

Which was not an answer.

Across the table, one of the officers shifted uneasily. “If Lucien’s involved, maybe the creatures belong to him.”

Seraphina’s attention snapped toward him.

“Based on what evidence?”

“He appeared at the scene.”

“He also warned us something beneath Prague should’ve stayed buried.”

“That sounds like manipulation.”

“It sounds like information.”

The tension around the chamber tightened subtly after that.

Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Enough for Seraphina to realize this wasn’t entirely about Prague anymore.

It was about Lucien.

About how much she had seen.

And possibly about whether the Order still trusted her judgment.

Aldric studied her quietly for a few moments before speaking again.

“You encountered the First Vampire directly. Tell us honestly, Commander — did he threaten you?”

Seraphina thought briefly about the train compartment.

The flickering lights.

The way Lucien looked at her like memory physically hurt.

You look like her.

“No,” she answered.

A few people at the table exchanged glances.

Aldric’s expression remained unreadable.

“Interesting.”

“He could’ve killed everyone inside that cathedral,” Seraphina continued. “He didn’t.”

“Mercy from monsters is usually strategic.”

“Or practical.”

“Do you believe he can be trusted?”

That question landed differently.

Not tactical.

Personal.

Seraphina leaned back slightly in her chair.

“I believe he knows something we don’t.”

“And you think he’ll willingly share it?”

“No,” she said honestly. “But I think he wants me to ask.”

Silence followed that statement long enough for even she to hear how strange it sounded aloud.

One of the officers scoffed softly. “That sounds dangerously close to manipulation.”

Seraphina met his eyes calmly. “Everything is manipulation. The question is whether the information is useful.”

Father Aldric watched her with increasing stillness.

That usually meant he was thinking hard enough to become dangerous.

Finally, he walked back toward the center table and placed both hands lightly against the wood.

“Lucien Valerius has avoided direct contact with the Order for nearly sixty years,” he said quietly. “Now he appears publicly at a massacre site and singles out one of our commanders by name.”

Nobody interrupted him.

“Whether his intentions are hostile or not,” Aldric continued, “the situation has escalated beyond local investigation.”

Seraphina already knew what was coming before he said it.

“You will lead the hunt.”

The room seemed to sharpen slightly around her.

Not emotionally.

Structurally.

Like the entire meeting had quietly arranged itself toward this outcome from the beginning.

“You’re assigning me directly?” she asked.

“You’ve already established contact.”

“That wasn’t intentional.”

“Nevertheless, he appears interested in you.”

The phrasing irritated her immediately.

Interested.

As though Lucien were merely another political target instead of one of the oldest predators on earth.

Seraphina folded her arms loosely.

“And if I refuse?”

Aldric smiled faintly.

Not unkindly.

Which somehow made it worse.

“You won’t.”

Because they both knew she never walked away from unfinished hunts.

That had been trained into her too deeply.

The briefing finally ended twenty minutes later.

Most officers left quickly once formal orders were issued, murmuring quietly among themselves as papers were gathered and chairs pushed back across stone floors.

Seraphina stayed behind long enough to collect her photographs.

Aldric remained near the cathedral windows.

Waiting.

Of course he was.

“You disagree with something,” he said without turning around.

Seraphina slid the Prague files into her coat folder. “I think we’re missing information.”

“We always are.”

“You already knew those symbols.”

That finally made him glance toward her.

Not surprised.

Careful.

“Knowledge inside the Church arrives in layers, Commander.”

“That’s a poetic way to describe secrecy.”

A faint smile touched his face.

“You sound like your mother when you’re angry.”

The comment hit harder than she expected.

Because people in Blackthorn almost never mentioned her mother.

Especially not Aldric.

Seraphina’s expression cooled immediately. “You knew her well?”

“Well enough.”

“That’s vague.”

“That’s intentional.”

Before she could press further, Aldric reached inside his coat and handed her a thin black file.

No title.

No classification stamp either.

Which meant unofficial.

“Lucien’s movements over the last fifteen years,” he said. “Disappearances. Financial routes. Witness accounts.”

Seraphina accepted the file carefully.

It felt lighter than expected.

“You think this will help me find him?”

Aldric’s gaze lingered on her for a moment too long before he answered.

“No,” he said softly.

“I think he’s going to find you first.”