New York
Deep beneath the streets of Manhattan, inside a concealed citadel laced with wards and dimensional anchors, the council of New York's supernatural leaders sat in grim silence. The lights were dim, glowing with soft ember hues. Between stone columns and arcane scripts etched across the floor, tension simmered like pressure under glass.
The round table stood at the center of the hall, surrounded by twelve seats, but only eight were filled today.
A girl had died last night. One of their own. And she wasn't the first.
A vampire turned to ash in Italy. A kitsune burned alive in Tokyo. A coven slaughtered in Istanbul.
All within days.
Now, the news was global.
And every leader here knew—it was only getting worse.
Vladimir slammed his hand on the table, fangs barely retracted beneath his lips. "I say we wipe their memory clean. All of them. Every last one. We wouldn't be in this mess if we'd done that from the start!"
His voice echoed across the marble.
