POV: Seraphine
She's finally alone with Vixzen.
Sera tries to act chill, but her brain is spinning. A girl like this just hacked her life open and brought her cursed kitchenware.
Vixzen pokes around Sera's space, clearly way too comfortable. Comments on her weird décor (the duck in the freezer?).
Dialogue full of sass and suspicion:
Vixzen: "You have the energy of a woman who's one bottle of wine away from burning down a wedding venue."
Seraphine: "You hacked into three people's files for friendship. Who's unwell here again?"
Vixzen: "Unwell is a strong word. I prefer 'emotionally resourceful.'"
Seraphine, deadpan: "You dropped classified blackmail in a novelty USB shaped like a fox tail.
That's not resourceful, that's aggressively weird."
Vixzen: "It's called branding. You wouldn't understand — you're still hoarding trauma and expired soy sauce."
Seraphine: "It's decorative."
Vixzen: "It's fermenting."
They both smirk. A tension begins to ease.
Seraphine finally asks what she meant by "comrades with similar appetites."
Vixzen opens up just enough to say:
"Let's just say hunger takes a lot of forms. Most kitsune feed off ambient energy, emotions, elements. I need more. If I'm not careful, I drain lakes dry or wither gardens just by being near them. I burn through nature the way others burn through lovers."
There's a rare moment of vulnerability. Seraphine doesn't press.
They agree — in their own way — to be something like friends.
Meanwhile at Elysium Global Securities
POV: Kaiden
Inside Elysium Global Defense: spotless floors, sterile lighting, reinforced glass everywhere. Clinical. Cold. Empty.
Kaiden sits by Silas Crox's hospital bed. Dozens of machines hum gently — IV bags drip like metronomes, monitors blink quietly. Oxygen lines curl near his mouth. The only sign of life: Silas' eyes, sharp and aware.
"Dad…" Kaiden says, voice barely above a whisper. Silas' eyes soften the moment they land on his son.
He hesitates, then gently clasps his father's frail hand, scared to apply pressure.
"Dad… I found her. I finally understand what you meant all those years ago."
A tear escapes him. "Please don't give up, Dad. You have to meet her. She's amazing."
A long pause stretches out. The monitor ticks like a slow heartbeat.
He leans in, voice trembling.
"There's something wrong with the company, Dad. Your kids — your people — they're disappearing. No signs. No traces. No warnings."
His grip tightens. "I don't want to imagine what they're going through… how scared they must be."
He bows his head. "How can I be like you, Dad? You found me — tortured, starving — and you pulled me out of that chamber like I mattered. I almost broke that day. You didn't let me."
A soft knock breaks the moment. It's Zaire.
Kaiden stands slowly, pats his father's hand. Then Zaire's shoulder. He leaves.
POV: Zaire
He replaces Kaiden beside Silas' bed, stiffly settling into the chair.
"Father."
Silas' eyes remain kind.
Zaire stares down, lost in memory.
"I've spent a lifetime trying to understand emotions. I watched, studied, measured them. But today…"
He exhales. "D–Dad… I found someone who makes me feel. It's overwhelming. I think I love her."
Silas' eyelids twitch, and for the first time in months, the corners of his mouth rise faintly.
Zaire lets out a shaky breath.
"I failed you. I tried to run this company, to protect the others. But I couldn't. They're gone. One by one. The ones you raised with me. My brothers. Sisters. I'm losing them all."
His voice cracks.
"I walk through the halls and I don't see your legacy — I see ghosts. I'm still failing you."
He stays a while longer, quietly, unwilling to let go.
POV: Theodore
Theodore saw Kaiden pass in the hall. Then Zaire.
"Looks like they beat me to it," he muttered, approaching the door. Zaire opened it just as he arrived — red-eyed.
Theodore froze. He had never seen Zaire cry. Not when wounded, not when losing allies. Never.
He stepped inside. Sat down.
"Hi, Papa."
The monitor beeped steadily.
"I met my mate today. Or what humans call 'the love of their lives.' She wasn't afraid of me. She didn't flinch. She called me her teddy bear."
He gave a soft, almost boyish laugh. "Isn't that funny? Everyone else calls me a monster. But not her."
Silas' hand gripped his. Weak, but present.
"There's another thing…" Theo's voice dropped. "I failed. I couldn't protect the ones you gave me. The others — they're disappearing. I don't know how. But I swear to you, Papa, I'll keep trying."
He lingered, terrified to look away.
"I'll let you rest. Get well soon."
He kissed his father's forehead. Then left.
The three met outside the room, Zaire and Kaiden in mid-argument.
"I'm telling you, this feels off. We're being manipulated," Zaire said.
Kaiden shook his head. "No. Look closer. She hates being a succubus."
Zaire frowned. "That's not possible. Succubi are proud — even half-bloods flaunt it. Their magic, their looks — it's all power."
"She doesn't have horns," Kaiden pressed. "Not even filed down. Nothing."
"That doesn't make sense…"
Kaiden suddenly remembered. "Where's the bottle? The SUC-A-BUST?"
Zaire handed it to him. "I still have it."
Kaiden's jaw tightened. "I'm sending this to my team. I don't care what comes back. It doesn't change anything."
The three exchanged a silent vow: They weren't leaving her alone again.
POV: Zaire
Back in his sleek, matte-black office lined with enchanted screens and steel bookshelves, Zaire stared at another resignation file.
"Another one, sir…"
His assistant handed it over with a grim look.
Nearly every day, a supernatural employee disappeared — no warnings, no notice. Humans replaced them.
He cross-referenced staff logs. Scanned exit timestamps. Cross-matched social media.
Nothing. No traces.
He called Kaiden.
"They're ghosts," Kaiden said. "Homes empty. Lovers panicking. It's like they vanished off the face of the earth."
Zaire leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"I've read these files backward. There's no trail. No alerts. No security breaches. Just... gone."
He opened a secure channel. Called in a favor — a private magical forensics agent. "I need a cross-plane analysis. Class 5."
POV: Theodore
Theo barked into his earpiece, pacing his command center.
"Patch all feeds. Level 3 scrubs. Reroute field agents to Sector 7. Use manual override."
Frustration simmered in his voice.
No system could catch the 3.5-second dead zones pulsing across their defense grids.
Not random. Always at 3:47 a.m. Always 3.5 seconds.
His office was stark — bulletproof glass, armored filing cabinets, reinforced console desk with triple-monitor readouts. Magic ward runes glowed faintly across the floor.
He flipped through feeds.
Same blind spot.
Same flicker.
"Lockdown sweep pattern. Adjust protocols. Run simulation again."
Suddenly —
An alarm blared.
Red lights flooded the room.
Theo turned slowly toward the screen.
"...We've got company."