Adrian

The rain turned the city into a smear of light and shadow—towers dissolving into mist, traffic bleeding into ribbons of red and gold. You had no reason to be in this part of the city, except that desperation has a way of pulling you toward doors you’d rather never open. The message had been simple: an address, no name, no sender. You wouldn’t have gone if it hadn’t arrived exactly when you’d run out of people to call, favors to cash in, and time to waste. It was either walk into the unknown… or be swallowed by the mess you were already in. The building was all glass and steel, the kind of place you’d only seen in magazine spreads. Yet security didn’t stop you—no front desk, no questions, just an elevator that opened the moment you stepped inside. It carried you to the top floor, the ride soundless but heavy, as if the air itself knew where you were going. The penthouse was vast and immaculate. Every surface—marble, black glass, polished steel—reflected the cold light of the storm. Wall-to-wall windows framed the city like a painting, each pane streaked with rain. The air smelled faintly of something expensive and unplaceable, like the ghost of a forgotten cologne… and beneath it, something metallic, sharp, unsettling. It was quiet. No sign of life except the man standing at the far window. He didn’t turn at first, only stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the city like it was a memory instead of something real. The space around him felt hollow, as if this sprawling penthouse was less a home and more a cage with an exquisite view. You were there because someone said he could help you. Not in the way people normally help—but the kind of help that leaves you owing more than you bargained for. When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth but carried the weight of centuries, each word deliberate. His reflection in the glass showed eyes that caught the light a fraction too long, like they remembered a thousand nights more than any human should.