Vivienne stared at the space where the cut had been, her mind struggling to reconcile the physical reality of her unblemished skin with the sharp, lingering phantom of pain. She blinked, her pulse slowing from a frantic rhythm to something more manageable.

"Exhaustion," she murmured, a nervous laugh escaping her. She looked up, expecting to see the man in white—Count Valmont—still watching her, but the space where he had stood was empty.

"Vivienne?" Adrian's voice pulled her back. He had noticed her distraction, his gaze flickering toward the catering table where she had been standing moments before. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine, Adrian. Really." She forced a professional smile, though her skin still felt strangely electrified. "Just... low blood sugar, maybe?"

"You're a doctor, Vivienne," he teased gently, though his eyes remained watchful, scanning the ballroom with a protective edge she hadn't seen before. "You know that's not a medical diagnosis."

A few yards away, the scene had unfolded with silent, terrifying precision. Evander Valmont did not look at the blood on the white paper; he didn't need to. He knew exactly where it was. With a grace that felt like a ripple in the air, he moved past the catering table, his gloved hand passing over the document. In a motion too swift for the human eye to track, the blood-stained paper vanished into his coat, replaced instantly by an identical, pristine sheet from his own pocket.

No one saw. No one gasped. The gala continued its mindless, glittering dance.

"My lord," a low, gravelly voice murmured at his side. It was Sebastian, his features as sharp and unyielding as polished stone. He had moved closer, his eyes fixed on the empty space where Vivienne had been. "You are drawing attention. Your glass..."

Evander looked down at the shards of crystal embedded in his palm. A single drop of his own cold, stagnant blood mixed with the crushed champagne. He didn't blink. "It was an accident, Sebastian."

"The scent," Sebastian pressed, his voice dropping to a whisper that only a vampire could perceive. "It is potent. If the blood remains exposed, you will draw others. Predators who do not share your... sentimental attachments."

Evander's gaze shifted back to Vivienne. She was laughing at something Adrian had said, her expression relaxed and entirely human. She had no idea that the air around her was thick with the scent of a legend.

"Ensure the area is cleared," Evander commanded, his voice cold and devoid of the longing that had threatened to unmake him minutes ago. "And keep watch on the surgeon. He is... persistent."

Adrian, sensing a shift in the atmosphere, turned his body slightly to shield Vivienne from the direction of the Count. It was an instinctive, territorial gesture, one that made Evander's lip curl ever so slightly. The human wanted to play the hero; he had no idea what he was protecting her from.

Vivienne, oblivious to the silent battle of wills occurring inches away, felt a sudden, inexplicable shiver. She looked toward the archway where the Count had been, but only saw the shadow of his white suit disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.

"I'll be fine," she said, softer.

Adrian nodded, though he did not look convinced, and crossed the room toward Professor Cross.

Vivienne watched him go.

Then she looked back at the table.

The stained document was gone.

For a moment, her mind refused to process the absence.

She checked beneath the folder. Then under the scholarship packets. Then beside the silver pen tray.

Nothing.

The document with her blood on it had vanished.

In its place lay an identical sheet, unstained and perfectly aligned with the others.

Vivienne stared at it.

There were several possible explanations.

Someone from the event staff could have replaced it. Professor Cross could have noticed and removed it. Vivienne herself could have moved it and forgotten, although exhaustion had not yet reached the stage where she misplaced bloodstains and created clean duplicates through sheer denial.

She looked across the ballroom.

Evander was no longer speaking to the hospital director.

He was watching her.

Not openly. Not in a way anyone else would notice. His attention moved with the discipline of someone who had spent a lifetime—maybe several—learning how not to appear interested in anything.

But he was watching.

Vivienne felt it with the same unreasonable certainty she had felt in the corridor.

Her pulse changed.

Not faster, exactly.

More aware of itself.

Evander did not approach. He did not gesture. He did not offer even the smallest acknowledgment that he knew exactly what she had discovered.

That, somehow, was worse.

Because if he had walked over and lied to her face, she could have worked with that. She understood lies. People lied constantly. Patients lied about alcohol intake, sleep, pain levels, smoking, recreational drugs, and whether they had definitely not eaten before anesthesia.

Silence was harder.

Silence gave her imagination too much space.

Across the room, Sebastian Vale appeared at Evander's side.

Vivienne had noticed him earlier without meaning to. He was difficult to ignore. Not because he dressed dramatically—he didn't—but because he had the kind of severe stillness that made every movement around him look inefficient. Dark suit. Silver at the temples. A face built for delivering bad news without apology.

He leaned slightly toward Evander and said something Vivienne could not hear.

Evander's gaze remained on her for one more breath before he turned away.

Only then did Vivienne realize she had been holding herself unnaturally still.

Ridiculous.

Completely ridiculous.

She was not going to let a man in an expensive white suit turn her into someone who startled at missing paperwork.

She gathered the remaining documents and forced herself to finish sorting them.

It took three tries.

Evander left the ballroom before the final toast.

No one stopped him.

People like Count Valmont did not leave early; they simply departed at the exact moment the evening became unworthy of their continued presence. The guests would call it mysterious tomorrow. The donors would call it eccentric. The board would call it inconvenient and adjust their schedules around him anyway.

Sebastian followed him through a private service corridor, carrying a sealed leather folder in one hand.

Neither man spoke until the ballroom doors closed behind them.

Then Sebastian said, "You took the document."

Evander continued walking.

"You saw the blood."

"Everyone with a functioning sense of smell in that room would have seen it eventually."

"Most people in that room are human."

"Most."

That single word made Sebastian's expression sharpen.

The corridor beyond the ballroom was lined with antique portraits of Valmont Foundation benefactors. Dead physicians. Dead philanthropists. Dead men who had once believed naming hospital wings after themselves might make mortality negotiable.

Evander passed them without looking.

Sebastian had served him long enough to know when silence meant patience and when it meant restraint.

This silence was neither.

This silence was hunger chained to grief.

"Two lesser vampires were present tonight," Sebastian said. "Both registered donors. Both weak enough to mistake curiosity for courage."

Evander's pace did not change.

"Names."

"Marcus Vey and Isolde Crane. Neither approached her."

"Because I was there."

"Because you frightened the room badly enough that even the humans noticed."

Evander stopped.

Not abruptly. He simply ceased moving, and the corridor seemed to arrange itself around that decision.

Sebastian had seen Evander kill men with less warning than this. He had seen him end duels, negotiations, and entire bloodlines in the same calm manner he used to deal with trivialities. Evander reached into his inner pocket and produced the folded document, his fingers hovering over the faint, dried crimson smear.

Sebastian looked up at his master, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and reverence.

"My lord," he whispered, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room. "This... this is Moonblood."