Two weeks after the diner, Dorian gets a call at three in the morning.
I watch him pace the bedroom. His responses are single syllables. Yes. No. Twenty minutes. He moves like a blade being drawn from its sheath.
When he hangs up he tells me there's a situation he needs to handle.
"What kind of situation?" I ask.
"The kind that requires witnesses." He's already pulling on his coat. "Get dressed. Now."
The drive to Red Hook takes fifteen minutes. Dorian's hands don't leave ten and two on the wheel. His jaw works like he's chewing glass. I've seen him angry before. But this is something else entirely.
The warehouse materializes from the dark like a wound in the cityscape. Rust streaks the corrugated metal walls. The smell hits me when we're still twenty feet from the door. Fear-sweat baked into concrete over decades.
Jett is already there with two vampires on their knees, hands zip-tied behind their backs.
They look young, early twenties, with matching bleached hair and feral eyes. Both wear leather jackets slick with something dark. Between them on the concrete floor are photos. Crime scene photos. Glossy eight-by-tens that catch the overhead light.
A body torn apart. Arms separated at the shoulder. Legs twisted at angles that don't exist in nature. The torso opened like a butcher's diagram.
Dorian picks up one of the photos. Studies it the way a surgeon studies an X-ray. His face gives nothing away.
"Names," he says.
"Ari," the first one spits.
"Lark," says the second. She giggles.
"The Butcher Twins." Jett's voice is flat. "They've been working the Lower East Side for three weeks."
Dorian sets the photo down. Aligns it precisely with the others.
"Explain," he says.
Ari speaks first. Voice bored. Like she's recounting a trip to the grocery store. "Guy was asking for it. Walking alone at night, smelling like he wanted to die."
Lark giggles. The sound bounces off the warehouse walls. "We made it quick. Well, quick enough."
I feel my stomach turn. Not from the violence. From how little it matters to them. From the casual cruelty wrapped in teenage bravado.
Dorian sets the photo down. His voice stays level. Almost conversational.
"Do you understand what you've done?"
Ari rolls her eyes. "We fed. That's what vampires do."
"No." Dorian crouches in front of her. Eye level. "That's what animals do."
"Whatever." Ari shrugs. "It's not that deep."
Dorian stands. Looks at Jett.
Jett moves behind Ari. His face is stone. He's done this before.
Dorian's hand reaches for the knife at his belt. The blade catches the light. Silver. Eight inches. Ari finally seems to understand. Her smirk drops. Color drains from her face.
"Wait—"
"You left a body in daylight." Dorian's voice stays low. "In my territory."
"We didn't mean—"
Ari tries to bargain. But Dorian is already in motion.
Single clean strike. The blade moves so fast I almost miss it. One moment Ari is pleading. The next her head separates from her shoulders with a sound like wet fabric tearing.
Her head hits the concrete with a wet crack. Bounces once. Rolls.
Her body stays upright for a heartbeat. Then pitches forward. Blood pools across the floor. Dark. Almost black under the warehouse lights.
Her skin turns gray. Then white. Then something like ash. The flesh desiccates in seconds. Pulls tight against bone. Her eyes sink into their sockets. Her lips peel back from her teeth. Within thirty seconds, she looks like she's been dead for months.
So much for eternity.
Lark screams. Pure terror stripped of everything human. She thrashes against the zip ties.
"Please please please I'll leave I'll never come back please don't—"
Dorian wipes the blade on Ari's shirt. The fabric crumbles under the steel.
Turns to Lark.
"Do you understand the rules now?"
Lark nods frantically. Tears and snot run down her face. She can't stop looking at her sister's corpse.
"You have two choices," Dorian says. His voice is calm. Patient. Like he's explaining directions to a lost tourist. "Work off the debt to the city by cleaning up messes like the one you made. Or leave New York and never return."
"I'll stay." Lark's voice breaks. "I'll do whatever you ask. I swear."
Dorian studies her for a long moment.
Finally, he nods to Jett.
Jett cuts her zip ties with a pocket knife. The plastic falls away. Lark scrambles away from her sister's body, legs not quite working. She has to use the wall to pull herself upright.
"Go," Dorian says.
She runs. The warehouse door slams behind her.
Dorian stands over Ari's corpse. His face is empty. No regret. No satisfaction. Just cold assessment.
"Jett," he says. "Clean this up. Make sure there's nothing left."
"Yes, sir."
Dorian turns to me. His eyes find mine across the warehouse floor. Between us, Ari's body crumbles to ash. The pile looks like someone dumped a crematorium urn on the concrete.
"Let's go," he says.
The ride back to the apartment is silent. I stare out the window at the city sliding past. Manhattan at four in the morning. Empty streets. Closed storefronts. The occasional taxi cruising for fares. Dawn is still hours away but I can feel it waiting. The pull toward darkness. The way my body knows when morning comes even when I can't see the sun.
Inside, Dorian pours himself a drink. Whiskey. Neat. He downs it in one swallow. Sets the glass on the counter too carefully. Like he's afraid if he moves too fast something will break.
I watch him from the doorway. He hasn't looked at me since we left the warehouse.
"Are you afraid of me now?" His voice is quiet.
I consider the question. Consider the efficiency of that kill. The cold mathematics of mercy and punishment. The way he didn't hesitate. The way Ari's body turned to dust in seconds. Eternal life ending in a heartbeat.
I cross the room until I'm standing in front of him. Close enough to see the muscle working in his jaw. Close enough to smell whiskey on his breath.
"Should I be?"
His eyes search mine. Looking for disgust. For horror. For the moment I decide he's a monster and run.
"Always. A little."
I kiss him. Hard. Taste whiskey and something darker. Something that's been alive for centuries and knows exactly what it costs to stay that way.
When I pull back my voice is steady.
"Good."