"Report," I say.
"All positions secure. Final count: six of ours dead, twelve wounded."
Six. The number lands like a blow. Six names to add to the list I carry. Six faces I'll see when I close my eyes.
"Who?"
Marcellus recites them. I listen to each name, commit them to memory. Victor, who'd been with me for seventy years. Maria, barely out of her first decade. Edward, Julian's protégé. Others whose lives stretched back decades, centuries, reduced now to bodies awaiting burial.
"Konstantin's casualties?" I ask.
"At least thirty confirmed. Possibly more, some retreated with wounds that may prove fatal." Marcellus pauses. "He wasn't present. Led the assault remotely."
Coward. Or strategist. The line between them has always been thin.
"That wasn't their real push," Celeste says. She's pulled her ruined shirt back on, holding it closed over her bandaged shoulder. "They pulled back too clean. Too organized."
"Reconnaissance," Marcellus agrees. "He wanted to test our defenses, see how we'd respond."
I nod slowly, processing. Konstantin is smart, always has been. He won't make the same approach twice. Whatever comes next will be different, unexpected, designed to exploit whatever vulnerabilities tonight revealed.
"Double the perimeter watch," I say. "Four-hour shifts, fresh rotations. I want damage assessments from all positions by dawn. And contact Lord Dmitri. His intelligence was accurate. I want to know if he has more."
"Already in progress." Marcellus hesitates, his eyes moving between me and Celeste in a way that suggests he sees more than I'd like. "Sir. You should rest. You took damage."
"I'll deal with it."
"You're bleeding through your shirt."
"I said I'll deal with it."
Another pause. Longer this time. Then Marcellus nods once.
"I'll handle the reports," he says. "Take the night. Both of you."
He leaves before I can respond to what is clearly not a suggestion.
The compound settles into the exhausted quiet that follows crisis.
I walk through the corridors with Celeste beside me, surveyingthe damage as we go. Broken windows, blood-streaked walls, furniture splintered from combat. My people move past us, some injured, some whole, all wearing the hollow expressions of survivors.
We should stop. I should talk to them, offer reassurance, be the leader they need me to be.
So I do. A hand on a shoulder. A nod of acknowledgment. Brief words to those who need them. "You fought well." "Get that looked at." "Rest while you can."
It takes longer than I'd like. Every moment, I'm aware of Celeste beside me, waiting. But these are my people. They bled for me tonight. They deserve more than my back as I walk past.
When I've done what I can, when the immediate needs have been addressed, I finally let myself keep walking.
Celeste matches my pace without comment. Her shoulder must be throbbing, vampire healing or not, a wound that deep takes time, but she doesn't slow, doesn't complain. Just walks beside me, close enough that our arms occasionally brush.
Each contact sends electricity through my skin.
We pass the conference room. Through the open door, I see Julian and Nadia bent over the maps, already planning for the next assault. They look up as we pass. Julian opens his mouth to speak.
I shake my head slightly, keep walking.
We climb the stairs to the residential wing. The sounds of the compound fade behind us: voices, movement, the organized chaos of aftermath. Up here, it's quiet. Private.
