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What met his eyes—
The photo looked like it had been taken covertly.
But the image was crystal clear.
Pale complexion. Eyes tinged slightly red. A mark ran through the center of his right iris—at first glance, it looked like someone had sliced his eye clean in half.
"That's Detective Bruce."
"I'm certain."
"His right eye was slashed by a blade once. Luckily it didn't damage his vision, but it left a scar."
George tapped the photograph in Hawk's hands, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "This is why I secretly reopened the Andrew case."
He paused.
Then curiosity crept into his voice as he regarded his daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law. "Now it's your turn. How did you find out about this case? Fewer than six people know I reopened it."
Hawk met George's probing gaze and shrugged.
He wanted to point out that once a secret was shared with even one other person, it wasn't really a secret anymore—let alone six people.
But...
Lying wasn't his strong suit. So after a moment's thought, he chose to say nothing.
Gwen, meanwhile, redirected the conversation. "What happened next, Dad? What else did you find?"
George glanced at his shrugging future son-in-law, then at his daughter's obvious attempt to change the subject.
Ever since becoming a vampire—and especially after witnessing Hawk's display of power—he'd known that the "wild boar" his little cabbage had dragged home from the field wasn't as simple as he appeared.
But...
The moment George learned Hawk had bought a house on Palm Street, he'd sensed something was off.
Still, if the IRS wasn't knocking on Hawk's door, George saw no reason to go digging either.
Most importantly—
Gwen was happy.
George could tell. Every time his daughter came home, she radiated genuine joy—the kind that came from the heart, not the kind that was performed.
So that was enough.
His daughter was happy.
His wife approved.
The IRS wasn't causing problems. Under those circumstances, George had no interest in chasing down Hawk's secrets.
Just like after the vampire incident earlier this year.
Hawk didn't bring it up.
Gwen didn't bring it up.
He didn't bring it up. The three of them had reached an unspoken understanding. As a veteran detective—especially one who now knew vampires were real and had become one himself—George understood perfectly well that the world wasn't as simple as it appeared.
Hawk was even less simple than he appeared.
But...
His daughter seemed to have known from the very beginning.
That was enough.
George watched Gwen deflect on Hawk's behalf, smiled inwardly, and let the conversation shift.
If his daughter had been in the dark, he would have demanded answers no matter what.
But Gwen knew. So he'd let it go.
George opened his drawer again and produced more photographs.
Hawk and Gwen each took a few.
The subject of every photo was the same person—the Detective Bruce, who George was absolutely certain had died in the line of duty nineteen years ago.
Actually, no.
He should be called Vampire Bruce now.
Some photos showed Vampire Bruce alone. Others included associates.
In several images, certain individuals had been circled in red.
Gwen looked up curiously.
"Dad, the people in the red circles..."
"All vampires."
George said this matter-of-factly, then pulled one photo from Gwen's hand and pointed at a man standing with Vampire Bruce in a corner of a bar. "This one—he was that patrol officer from back then. Andor."
Gwen followed her father's finger to the man in the photo—someone who looked about twenty-five—and frowned.
"Wasn't he supposed to have burned to death?"
"Obviously, that was faked too."
"..."
Hawk, seated nearby, thought of the other detective.
"What about Giorno?"
"He's not one of them."
"He's not?"
"No."
George shook his head and looked at Gwen. "I checked. Giorno retired five years ago. He lives in Jersey City now. He's definitely aged—even broke his arm a few years back and spent time in the hospital."
Gwen let out a breath of relief.
Hawk watched George without speaking.
Because he had a feeling there was a "but" coming.
Sure enough.
"However..."
George shifted gears, looking between Hawk and Gwen. "Last week, Heller found a case connected to an old 21st Precinct file and paid Giorno a visit in Jersey City. When Giorno turned to pour tea, Heller managed to snap a photo of the back of his right ear. There appeared to be some kind of blood thrall mark."
Gwen was stunned.
Hawk smiled.
See?
He'd called it.
Gwen recovered from her shock and drew in a sharp breath. "All three of them. Bruce and that patrol officer Andor became vampires. And the only one left—Giorno—is a blood thrall connected to vampires."
As she spoke, Gwen shot Hawk a curious glance.
As if to say...
You're sure you pissed off angels?
Because this feels more like you kicked a vampire hornet's nest.
Hawk met Gwen's gaze and frowned.
Angels.
Vampires.
The next second.
Something clicked—a connection that could link vampires and angels.
The Blood God.
The same scheme Hawk had initially mistaken for one of Mephisto's traps, only to discover it was actually Yahweh's handiwork—a plot to sow discord.
As Mephisto had put it:
The Blood God had been possessed by one of Yahweh's agents long ago.
But George didn't know anything about the Blood God.
So—
Hawk looked at George.
"Deacon Frost's blood thralls?"
"No."
George shook his head, pulled out a blank sheet of paper, and drew a symbol resembling the letter K.
Hawk studied the symbol, frowning.
George looked at him.
"Ring any bells?"
"No."
Hawk shook his head, then met George's skeptical gaze with a faint smile. "Vampires are beneath my notice. Paying attention to them would be nothing but a waste of time."
This wasn't arrogance.
It was fact.
Ever since becoming a Bronze Saint, he'd stopped considering vampires a threat.
Silver had only reinforced that—along with the Reality Stone.
And now?
He was Gold.
He'd contracted his timeline, awakened the Seventh Sense, and earned the title of Saint closest to the divine.
And "divine" didn't refer to Marvel's various gods who walked around in mortal-level bodies.
It meant the true Gods.
Odin of Asgard.
Zeus of Olympus.
Once he awakened the Eighth Sense and manifested his Cosmo into reality, he wouldn't just stop caring about vampires—even dimensional gods like Mephisto would become wastes of his attention.
"However..."
Just as George was about to speak, Hawk pivoted. "I do know someone who should have answers."
George smiled and shook his head. "If you're talking about Katherine, don't bother. I already asked. She doesn't know."
Yes.
George knew the Vampire Queen Katherine.
This wasn't surprising.
After all, Katherine had been the one to give George his daylight ring. And Katherine was also Gwen's friend.
Most importantly—
After George became a vampire, it was Gwen who'd asked Katherine to help him learn how to live as a vampire hiding among humans, and how to control his constant thirst for blood.
Come to think of it, Katherine was one of the fewer-than-six people who knew George had reopened this case.
Another was his first partner after making detective—Ben Urich, now a retired journalist.
In fact, the reason George had spotted the supposedly-dead-for-nineteen-years Bruce at that vampire bar was because of Ben Urich's tip.
The 21st Precinct had recently received several reports of missing homeless people.
Ben Urich suspected that vampires—quiet since Deacon Frost's death—had started causing trouble again.
Sure enough, the vampire bar had secretly reopened at some point.
George had gone there after receiving Ben's intel, and that's when he'd discovered Bruce.
The only others in the know were his right and left hands—Detectives Heller and Mahoney, the 21st Precinct's finest.
The last one was a friend George had known for years at NYPD headquarters.
Reopening old cases required authorization from the top.
That was procedural justice. George had always been a defender of proper procedure—he wasn't about to be the one to violate it.
But he was getting off track.
Hawk heard George mention Katherine and chuckled.
"I'm not talking about Katherine."
"Then who?"
"The Original—Klaus."
Hawk smiled and glanced at Gwen. "Call Klaus."
He didn't have Klaus's number saved.
Gwen did.
After all, Hawk rarely used his own phone. Klaus calling Gwen was the easiest way to reach him.
At Hawk's prompt, Gwen remembered the Original and pulled out her phone, dialing Klaus directly.
Soon enough.
Klaus's voice—carrying that signature roguish edge—came through the speaker.
"Klaus Mikaelson."
"Hawk."
Hawk took the phone, announced himself, then briefly described the K-shaped symbol George had drawn. "This blood thrall mark—which family does it represent?"
Klaus paused on the other end, thinking for a moment before answering.
"Corvinus."
"Their estate is on the outskirts of Paris—Corvinus Manor."
"Self-important purebloods."
"After the New York Pureblood Council was dismantled by Blade, rumor has it the Corvinus family tried to take over the city."
"But that's just rumor. I'm not responsible for its accuracy."
"After all, I'm not part of their clan."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
Hawk ended the call, then met George's expectant gaze with a faint smile. "Appreciate the help."
He had his lead now.
Next step: pay the Corvinus family a visit and have a nice chat about what happened in a certain alley twenty years ago.
Solve the case?
Screw that.
Hawk looked at Gwen. "I'm off."
Gwen nodded.
George blinked, caught off guard.
"Wait—where are you going? We haven't even made a plan yet."
"..."
Before he finished speaking.
Hawk had already vanished from his chair.
Gwen smiled at her father.
"Dad."
"Hawk doesn't need plans."
"..."
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