Chapter 58: Sebastian - The Return

Kiyan pulled up in front of the entrance. Phoenix, who immediately understood it was better to make himself scarce, pressed his tiny cold cat nose against Blanche's before vanishing.

"Not a word from now on," Mr. Ardachir growled, fixing her straight in the eyes as they climbed the steps. "'Walls have ears' isn't just an expression here."

Blanche made an eloquent face, just to provoke him. He gave an amused smile.

"I know you're not stupid. But I'd rather be safe than sorry... unlike some."

She grimaced. Yeah. Fair enough. She rolled her eyes and agreed to shut her big mouth—even if, truth be told, she'd been doing a lot of that lately.

He gallantly held the door open for her. She regretted it instantly. If the double swinging doors were that heavy and thick, there was a very good reason: barely inside the airlock, she froze at the chaos echoing up from the ground floor. A veritable torrent of noise.

Mute with shock, she watched the vampires bustling about from one end to the other. They all wore the same leather outfits that squeaked at the slightest movement, the same tinted glasses, the same headsets with microphones that seemed to both shield them from their own conversations and feed the surrounding din.

She felt like she'd been dropped into a giant anthill. The vampires passed by, oblivious to their presence. Kiyan stayed at her side—too close, even—watching her reaction, taking in the others. All slender, athletic, stunning. Not a single visible flaw.

Thanks to their premature deaths and their immortality, he and she weren't at a disadvantage... which gave them at least one thing in common with the vampires.

The black walls didn't help. The meager natural light didn't either. She felt trapped, as if the endless expanses of the Otherworld had already carved into her the notion of an "ideal place." Here, everything felt oppressive.

She only realized she had moved closer to Kiyan when she felt his shoulder against her back.

He then took her hand and gently pulled her behind him. She tried to match his pace as he headed with confident steps toward reception—a massive circular desk. He slipped around it in one fluid motion, then made for the single elevator just behind it.

Without letting go of her, he pressed the call button. Blanche savored the warmth of his hand. Even after her car accident, she had never felt so disconnected, torn away from reality. Her emotions were a roller coaster. And yet, she'd swallowed her share of bitter pills...

They stepped inside. The doors closed without a sound, with that slightly pretentious elegance of machines that have nothing to prove. The elevator was made of ice-like walls that perfectly reflected them, to the point it became almost suspicious—too sharp, too smooth, as if reality had decided to make a special effort.

She swallowed. Of course. Because someone in this perfectly composed scene had to remember how a human body worked. They were... beautiful. Ridiculously so, even—the kind that made you want to roll your eyes just to compensate. Hand in hand. Straight. Tall.

Kiyan at ease, his other hand in his pocket, as if posing for an ad no one had asked for. Without context, they could have passed for a couple without any problem, even with the age gap—which, frankly, didn't help the overall impression.

"Hey, Kiyan. Good morning, miss."

She jumped. The cheerful male voice came out of nowhere, cutting her thoughts short.

"Hey, H," Kiyan replied.

"H?" Blanche whispered, looking around without seeing anything.

He squeezed her hand slightly and pointed to the mini camera on the dashboard, right next to the speaker that replaced the usual buttons.

"Asher. One of the maintenance pixies."

"Hello," she answered, intrigued.

A pixie. She had never seen one in real life, which, given the number of improbable things that seemed perfectly normal around her, was starting to feel like an achievement in itself.

She didn't even know what they actually looked like—minor detail, apparently. But according to Eva and Sean, they were small, winged, hardworking, and absolutely loyal. Nothing less.

A flawless description, almost too flawless, like something out of a slightly suspicious promotional brochure—the kind that carefully forgets to mention the drawbacks (if there were any, which remained to be proven... or feared).

"Where are we going?" she asked, suddenly uneasy.

"Control room. Sebastian and Asher are waiting for us there. They want to show us something."

He must have felt her tension, because his thumb began gently stroking the back of her hand. And then... total cliché: she caught herself wishing the elevator would break down right now. Immediately. But with the camera? No. She would never dare.

She suppressed a sigh when the doors opened onto Sebastian, impeccable in his suit, of course. As if the Vampire King maintained his building just as well as his appearance—which, at this point, was less a hypothesis than a fairly strict operating principle.

If he noticed their joined hands, she had no idea: his magnificent eyes were hidden behind tinted lenses—convenient when you'd rather keep your comments to yourself (or enjoy the situation in silence). Still, he wore an amused smile, the kind that very clearly said he hadn't missed a thing, even without showing it.

"Blanche! Kiyan! Always a pleasure to see you."

His aura, blending kindness with an unshakable darkness, reinforced his warm words. He grabbed Kiyan by the shoulder in greeting.

"Thanks for coming so early. There's someone who absolutely wanted to see you before heading off to college. He complains you don't come by often enough."

Right behind him, Prince Benjamin—Argy—was grinning from ear to ear, with an enthusiasm that was almost suspicious, dressed in dark blue jeans, loafers, and a black silk shirt, as if he had decided to test the concept of "casual but expensive." Nothing like his Otherworld look, which in itself already raised several questions she had not asked to deal with.

Blanche stood there, mouth open. Of course. What was he doing here? Why didn't her journal mention any of this? And that hair! Seriously, that hair!

Aaron had clearly not invented a hairdryer to tame that mane... which, given the result, had to be either a monumental oversight or a very personal decision.

He threw himself at Kiyan, who let go of her hand to hug his "son," with a disarming ease, as if all of this—the surprise appearance, the change of style, the overflowing energy—was perfectly normal. Of course. Perfectly normal.