There are columns for dosage adjustments. There’s a section for notes labeled YIELD.
“This isn’t a holding cell,” I say. “It’s a supply chain. Forms, schedules, quality control. Growth charts in the children’s wing to track output potential as the subjects age.”
I let that land.
“Humans managed as a renewable resource.”
Okonkwo’s jaw is rigid. His hands have gone from flat to fists on his thighs.
The next frame. The children’s corridor. Smaller cots. The growth charts mounted on the wall between rooms, height measurements in inches, handwritten dates going back years. A child’s drawing taped to the wall above one cot. A house with a yellow sun. A door.
Through the bond, Maximus’s steadiness falters. I don’t look back.
I advance to the final frame. The empty twelfth cot in the third room. Sheet pulled tight across the mattress. Corners tucked with mechanical precision. Subject number on the clipboard, no corresponding body.
“We don’t know where subject twelve went. The records don’t say. The system doesn’t record what happens when a line item stops producing.”
Dmitri’s right thumb moves once across the gold band at the base of his index finger. Crosses the ring. Returns. Crosses it again. Then his hand goes still.
Chen’s folded hands tighten. The first movement I’ve seen from him since he sat down.
I turn off the display. The screens go dark.
I give it room. Ten seconds. Fifteen.
“That is what it looks like when humans are treated like livestock.”
I let that sit.
“Our compound runs a donor program. One hundred and twenty active volunteers. Paid. Medically screened. Consent forms signed before every draw. Our donors choose to be there. They leave when they want.”
Vivienne is staring at the dark screen.
I wait. I don’t fill the silence. I let the footage sit in the room and do its work.
Okonkwo stands.
No deliberation. No hesitation. The chair pushes back and he is on his feet before the silence has fully settled. His deep voice carries a vibration that lands in my chest.
“This ends. I stand with you.”
No conditions. No caveats.
Dmitri rises. Slower. Each vertebra aligning as though he’s assembling himself for the record. “The evidence is compelling. I’ll commit resources and intelligence, subject to terms I’ll negotiate privately with Lord Maximus.”
Conditions. Dmitri doesn’t commit without caveats. But he’s standing. That matters more than the fine print.
Chen inclines his head. The smallest motion. He stays seated. Silent.
Vivienne doesn’t move.
“You’ve shown us one facility,” she says. Her voice is careful. “How many does he have?”
“At least three. Possibly more.” I give her the honest answer because lying to Vivienne is pointless. She smells it faster than blood.
“And his supply of clean blood. If we cut him off. If we dismantle every farm.” She tilts her head, red hair catching the conference room light. “Where does the uncontaminated supply come from? For all of us? Your one hundred and twenty donors support thirty vampires. There are thousands in the Southeast alone.”
“We have a blood purification researcher at the compound now. Dr. Carson. Peachwood University. He’s working on a method to clean contaminated blood at scale.” I keep my voice even. “It’s not ready. But it’s real, and it’s the only path that doesn’t require humans in cots.”
