Greneth rose the following evening, dressed, and drank a draught of blood from the refrigerator. He shook the container and admired whatever they did to it to stop the congealing. If only they'd had that years ago.

With no messages waiting, it seemed he had a day off. The door beckoned, with the promise of a thousand entertainments scattered in the citadel's public areas, but he couldn't make himself go. He didn't want to see what else might be out there. Verchiel. Or ...