Shadows in the City (Temporary Title)

Chapter 1

The penthouse overlooked Manhattan like a glass throne suspended in the sky. Scott Goldsmith stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the city lights flicker to life as dusk settled over New York. At 1270 years old, he'd watched countless sunsets, but the view never quite lost its appeal. Behind him, the soft strumming of a guitar drifted through the open living room.

"You're brooding again," Avid called from the couch, his fingers dancing across the guitar strings in a melody that felt older than the city itself. His tail curled around the side of the couch, the tip twitching slightly in time with the music. At 221, he was practically a child compared to Scott, but centuries together had taught him to read Scott's moods like sheet music.

Scott turned from the window, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "I don't brood. I contemplate."

"You brood." Shelby emerged from their studio, manuscript pages tucked under one arm. At 219, they were the youngest of their little coven, but no less perceptive. "You've been staring out that window for forty-five minutes. That's textbook brooding."

Avid set the guitar aside, his clawed fingers careful with the instrument. The single horn that curved from the left side of his head caught the lamplight as he tilted his head with concern. "Is it Oakhurst again?"

The name hung in the air like smoke. Scott moved away from the window, settling into the armchair across from Avid. "It's been two hundred years. You'd think I'd have processed it by now."

"Trauma doesn't follow a timeline," Shelby said gently, curling up on the opposite end of the couch from Avid. "Even for vampires."

Scott's jaw tightened. "The beacons finally turning, everyone scattering—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair. "And the people we lost. I just—I don't know how to let it go."

Avid leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his tail settling still against the floor. They'd had this conversation before, in various forms, over the past two centuries. "You're allowed to still grieve. What happened at Oakhurst wasn't simple."

"The beacons turned. The whole experiment ended. Everyone scattered." Scott's voice was hollow. "So many people didn't make it out, and I never got to—" He stopped himself, thinking of faces long gone, of goodbyes never said.

Shelby exchanged a glance with Avid. They'd been dancing around this topic for months now, and it was time to intervene.

"You need a distraction," Shelby announced. "Something normal. Something human."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "I'm a vampire."

"Which is exactly why you need to do something aggressively mundane." Shelby pulled out their phone, scrolling quickly. "There's a painting class starting next week at the community center in Chelsea. Tuesdays and Thursdays, seven to nine."

"Painting?" Scott's tone was skeptical.

"Why not?" Avid picked up his guitar again, his claws plucking out a gentle accompaniment to the conversation. "When's the last time you did something just for fun? Something that wasn't hunting or brooding or organizing the wine cellar by vintage?"

"I like organizing the wine cellar."

"Scott." Avid's voice was soft but firm. "You're stuck. We can both see it. Maybe trying something new will help."

Scott looked between his partners—because that's what they were, had been for decades now, even if the relationship had taken time to rebuild after everything. Avid's magic was powerful enough to level city blocks, a lingering effect from the demon attack he'd survived as a child, but he wielded gentleness with the same precision. The demonic features he'd been left with—the horn, the claws, the tail—were just part of who he was now, and Scott had long since stopped seeing them as anything but beautiful. Shelby had a way of cutting through Scott's defenses with nothing but honesty and care.