Murder, Magic, and Bad Decisions

The Council Headquarters loomed like a dark cathedral against the skyline, its spires twisting unnaturally as if reality itself was struggling to contain the power within. Vivi hated this place. It smelled of polished marble and political scheming, two things she avoided whenever possible.

But today, avoiding it wasn't an option.

Callum strode beside her, his steps purposeful and far too fast for her liking. She practically had to jog to keep up, her heels clicking sharply against the stone walkway.

"Do you always have to walk like you're leading a war charge?" she grumbled, adjusting the strap of her briefcase.

"Do you always complain this much?" he shot back, his steel-gray eyes scanning the crowd of supernaturals milling outside the building.

"Only when I'm forced to clean up someone else's mess," she said sweetly. "Speaking of which, let me remind you—this isn't my job. I'm a lawyer, not a miracle worker."

Callum stopped abruptly, forcing her to nearly bump into him. He turned, towering over her with an intensity that could probably set a room on fire. "You think I want to be here, Kane? I don't. But whoever framed me didn't just pick my pack for fun—they're trying to start something. And if you don't help me, we're all screwed."

Vivi tilted her head, unimpressed. "I love a good apocalypse speech in the morning. Very motivating."

"Would it kill you to take this seriously?"

"Maybe," she said with a smirk, brushing past him to climb the wide stone steps. "But that's your problem now."

Inside the Council Hall, the air hummed with tension. Supernaturals of every kind filled the space—vampires in tailored suits, witches in flowing robes, werewolves in leather jackets. The building was designed to intimidate, its vast ceilings and shadowy alcoves making everyone feel small.

Vivi's Omega Insight pinged softly, a flicker of her HUD appearing in the corner of her vision.

[General Tension: High]

Mood Breakdown:

40% Nervous 30% Angry 20% Curious 10% Probably Planning Murder

She dismissed the screen with a sigh. She didn't need magical insight to know everyone here was out for blood.

As they approached the Council chamber doors, a tall, elegantly dressed vampire stepped into their path. Darren Cross. Vivi's ex-boyfriend and current professional pain in her ass.

"Vivi," Darren said smoothly, his lips curling into a smile that was equal parts charm and condescension. "I thought I smelled desperation. Or is that just your new cologne?"

Vivi rolled her eyes. "Darren. Still compensating for your lack of personality, I see."

Callum growled low in his throat, stepping closer to Darren, who didn't flinch. Darren's emerald eyes shifted to the Alpha, his smile widening. "Ah, Dorian. I see you've brought your favorite lapdog, Kane."

"You've got five seconds to move," Callum said, his voice like gravel and thunder.

"Or what?" Darren asked, his fangs flashing briefly.

Vivi groaned, stepping between them. "Boys, please. If you're going to measure egos, do it on your own time. I have work to do."

Darren gave her an exaggerated bow and stepped aside. "As you wish, counselor. But don't say I didn't warn you—defending Dorian might just be your dumbest idea yet."

"Thanks for the unsolicited advice," Vivi said brightly, pushing past him. "It's always nice to hear from people who peaked in the 1800s."

Callum chuckled under his breath as they entered the chamber. "I'm starting to see why you two didn't work out."

"Oh, he was worse in relationships," Vivi quipped. "Turns out charm doesn't pay the rent."

The Council chamber was a cavernous space, dominated by a circular table where the faction leaders sat like monarchs. At the head of the table was Amara LeClair, a vampire older than most civilizations and chair of the Council. Her piercing gaze settled on Callum and Vivi as they approached.

"Alpha Dorian," Amara said, her voice like silk stretched over steel. "And Ms. Kane. How… unsurprising."

"Nice to see you too," Vivi muttered, setting her briefcase on the table. "Let's skip the pleasantries and get straight to it. You've got a mess, and I'm here to clean it up."

"Ms. Kane," Amara said smoothly, "we already know about the murder weapon. The question is whether you can prove it wasn't Dorian who wielded it."

Callum folded his arms, his jaw tight. "I was with my pack all night. They'll vouch for me."

"Your pack," Amara said, arching a delicate brow, "is hardly an unbiased source."

Vivi cut in before Callum could snap. "The real question," she said, "is who benefits from framing him. Felicity Graves wasn't just any artifact dealer—she had dirt on half the factions in this room. Somebody wanted her gone, and they wanted you all looking in the wrong direction."

Amara's eyes narrowed. "And you believe that direction is Dorian?"

"Please," Vivi said, waving a hand. "If Callum wanted to kill Felicity, he'd do it with his bare hands, not some stolen heirloom. This whole setup is amateur hour."

Callum shot her a look, half-amused and half-exasperated. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You're welcome," she replied without missing a beat.

The vampire leader tapped her long nails on the table, considering. "Very well. You may investigate on Dorian's behalf. But be warned, Ms. Kane—failure will have consequences."

"Doesn't it always?" Vivi said lightly, gathering her things.

As they left the chamber, Callum leaned down to murmur in her ear, "You're playing a dangerous game."

She shot him a sidelong glance. "Danger's just part of the job, wolf boy. Now let's go find the bastard who framed you."