Azael

Rain spilled from the sky like it was trying to wash away the sins of the city. Flashing red and blue lights bathed the pavement in an ominous glow as Detective Serah Blake stepped beneath the yellow tape and stared up at the towering penthouse before her.

"Third floor. Corner suite," Officer Langford said, meeting her at the entrance. His voice was low, steady - but his eyes betrayed something deeper. "You're going to want to see this one yourself."

Serah didn't respond. She adjusted her coat, her fingers brushing against the cold metal of her badge before stepping into the elevator. The place reeked of wealth - glass floors, golden elevators, and a scent too pristine to be anything natural.

When the doors opened, the air changed. Thick. Still. Like a cathedral before a storm.

She entered the suite.

The body lay on pristine marble. Pale. Cold. Lifeless. But it wasn't the dead man that made her stomach turn. It was the look of ecstasy frozen on his face - like death had been a lover who kissed too hard.

And then there were the bite marks.

Not jagged like a dog. Clean. Precise. Two puncture wounds, right on the carotid.

"No blood," Serah muttered, crouching beside the corpse.

"Not a drop anywhere," Langford confirmed. "EMTs say he was drained."

Serah stood, her eyes scanning the penthouse. Sleek furniture. A sculpture of a phoenix in mid-rise. And by the floor-to-ceiling window stood a man.

Tall. Impeccably dressed. Hands clasped behind his back like he owned the skyline.

"Detective Blake," he said without turning. "I was wondering when you'd arrive."

She approached cautiously. "You the one who called it in?"

He turned.