The coffee in the FBI break room always tasted like burnt rubber, but Agent Ivy Novak had learned to drink it anyway. Three years of undercover work in Detroit's worst neighborhoods had taught her to appreciate any caffeine that came without the risk of being laced with something deadly.
She stood by the grimy window on the fifteenth floor, watching Chicago's morning traffic crawl through the Loop below. Her reflection stared back – auburn hair pulled into its usual tight bun, amber eyes that had seen too much for someone who'd just turned twenty-eight. The scar on her left wrist caught the fluorescent light, a thin white line that reminded her why she'd switched from street work to organized crime.
"Agent Novak."
The voice made her turn. Director Richard Clarke stood in the doorway, his silver hair perfectly styled despite the early hour. Even at seven AM, his gray suit looked like it had just come from the dry cleaner.
"Sir." Ivy straightened automatically. Clarke didn't do casual visits to the break room.
"My office. Now."
The walk down the hallway felt longer than usual. Clarke's office smelled like leather and expensive cologne, with awards covering every inch of wall space. Thirty years with the Bureau, and he had the commendations to prove it.
"Sit." Clarke gestured to the chair across from his massive oak desk.
Ivy sat, her hands automatically folding in her lap. She could feel the weight of her father's ring on her right hand – the silver band he'd given her when she graduated from the Academy. Her thumb found it, a nervous habit she'd never been able to break.
Clarke opened a manila folder. The tab read "CLASSIFIED" in red letters.
"What do you know about vampires, Agent Novak?"
The question hit her like cold water. "Sir?"
"Vampires. Blood-drinking creatures of the night. Hollywood's favorite monsters." Clarke's pale blue eyes never left her face. "What do you know about them?"
Ivy's mind raced. This felt like a test, but she couldn't figure out the right answer. "They're... fictional, sir?"
"Wrong." Clarke pulled out a photograph and placed it face-down on the desk. "They're real. They're dangerous. And they're operating in my city."
The room felt smaller suddenly. Ivy's training kicked in – stay calm, process information, ask the right questions. "Real how, sir?"
"Real as in they exist. Real as in they have supernatural abilities. Real as in they've been running organized crime operations under our noses for decades." Clarke leaned back in his chair. "The Bureau has known about their existence since 1962. We have a specialized unit that handles supernatural threats. Very few agents have the clearance to know about it."
Ivy's thumb worked frantically against her ring. "And you're telling me because...?"
"Because you're going undercover."
The words hung in the air like smoke. Ivy had done undercover work before – drug dealers, human traffickers, corrupt politicians. But vampires? Her brain struggled to process it.
"There's a family called the Rothschilds," Clarke continued. "They control the supernatural community in Chicago. On the surface, they run legitimate businesses – art galleries, private clubs, high-end auction houses. Underneath, they're laundering money, trafficking illegal goods, and God knows what else."
He tapped the photo with one finger. "This is your target."
Ivy reached for the photograph. Her hand was steady – years of training had taught her to control physical reactions even when her mind was spinning.
She flipped it over.
The world stopped.
The coffee cup slipped from her other hand, hitting the floor with a crash that seemed to echo forever. Hot liquid splashed across her black pants, but she barely felt it. Her vision tunneled until all she could see was the face in the photograph.
Dark hair. Deep blue eyes that had once looked at her like she was the only person in the world. A jawline she'd traced with her fingertips a thousand years ago, in what felt like another lifetime.
Danny.
Danny Rosen, who'd vanished from her dorm room ten years ago without a word. Danny, who'd left her with nothing but questions and a broken heart that had taken years to heal. Danny, who'd been the only man she'd ever really loved.
Except the name typed below the photo read "Dimitri Rothschild."
"Agent Novak?" Clarke's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. "Are you alright?"
Ivy blinked hard, forcing her face back into professional neutrality. Her hands were shaking – she pressed them flat against her thighs to hide it. "I'm fine, sir. Just... surprised by the resemblance to someone I used to know."
Clarke's eyes sharpened. "Someone you used to know?"
"College acquaintance. Long time ago." The lie came easily, smoothly. Ivy had learned early that the truth was often more dangerous than fiction. "What's his story?"
"Dimitri Rothschild, twenty-eight years old, heir to the Rothschild vampire dynasty. MBA from University of Chicago, speaks four languages, and has never been convicted of a crime. Also has been seen at the scene of twelve suspicious deaths in the past five years."
Vampire dynasty. The words bounced around in Ivy's skull like bullets in a metal box. Danny was a vampire. Danny was alive. Danny was a criminal.
Danny wasn't Danny anymore.
"Your assignment," Clarke said, pulling out another folder, "is to infiltrate their organization. We need evidence of their illegal activities. Financial records, witness testimony, anything that will hold up in court."
Ivy stared at the photograph. Danny's face stared back, but it was different somehow. Sharper. More dangerous. The soft boy she'd known in college was gone, replaced by someone who looked like he could kill without blinking.
"How do I make contact?" Her voice sounded normal. Professional. Like her entire world hadn't just imploded.
"You're an art appraiser. Katherine Mills, freelance consultant from New York. The Rothschilds are hosting a private auction next week – high-end pieces, invitation only. You'll attend as a potential buyer."
Clarke slid a business card across the desk. The paper felt expensive between her fingers, heavy and cream-colored. "Your cover identity is already established. Background, references, bank accounts – everything's been arranged."
"Timeline?"
"Six months maximum. We need this wrapped up before..." Clarke's finger tapped against the desk three times, quick and rhythmic. "Before certain interested parties lose patience."
The finger-tapping was new. In three years of working under Clarke, Ivy had never seen him do that. Something about this case was making him nervous.
"What aren't you telling me, sir?"
Clarke's expression didn't change, but his hand went still. "Nothing you need to worry about, Agent Novak. Just focus on the mission."
Another lie. Ivy could feel it in the air between them, thick as fog.
"There's one more thing." Clarke opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small silver pendant on a chain. "Wear this at all times. It's a tracking device, but it also serves another purpose."
"Which is?"
"Protection. Vampires have... abilities. Enhanced strength, speed, hypnotic influence. This pendant contains a small amount of silver and iron. It won't hurt them, but it will make it harder for them to use their powers on you."
Ivy took the pendant. It was warm in her palm, and heavier than it looked. The design was simple – a small cross surrounded by intricate knotwork.
"Any questions?"
A million questions. Starting with how the boy she'd loved had become a monster, and ending with why Clarke was lying to her about something. But she couldn't ask any of them.
"When do I start?"
"Monday. The auction is Friday night, which gives you four days to establish your cover and make initial contact." Clarke stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. "Agent Novak?"
She paused at the door. "Yes, sir?"
"Be careful. These aren't ordinary criminals. They've survived for centuries by being smarter, faster, and more ruthless than anyone hunting them. Don't let your guard down for a second."
Ivy nodded and left the office, the photograph burning in her jacket pocket like a live coal.
In the elevator, she finally allowed herself to look at it again. Danny's face smiled back at her, but the smile was different too. Confident in a way that seemed almost predatory.
Her phone buzzed with a text from her neighbor about walking her dog. Normal life, trying to intrude on the moment when everything had changed.
She typed back a quick response, her fingers automatic on the keys. But her mind was stuck ten years in the past, on a September night when Danny Rosen had kissed her goodbye and promised to see her tomorrow.
Tomorrow had never come.
Now it seemed like it finally would.
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End of Chapter 1