The luxurious hotel room at The Grand Plaza was a stark contrast to their usual accommodations in Ancroft. As Mimic entered, the plush cream carpets muffled her footsteps. The warm, golden light from ornate wall sconces illuminated the opulent space, with heavy silk curtains framing floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the city below.
Damien sat on a leather Chesterfield sofa, his once-imposing frame now seeming almost frail against the elegant furniture. He wore a crisp white shirt that hung loosely on his shoulders, a stark contrast to his former muscular build. His dark hair, while neatly combed back, appeared thinner, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face that now bordered on gaunt.
Most striking was the angry, red fresh looking wound that ran from his left temple to his jaw - a permanent reminder of his battle with Blake, refusing to heal despite his vampiric nature. His skin, always pale, now had an almost translucent quality, the veins beneath visible and dark.
Despite his diminished appearance, Damien's eyes remained sharp and alert, a glimpse of the formidable vampire lord he once was. He sat with a stillness that spoke of conserved energy, every small movement deliberate and controlled.
Mimic herself was dressed for stealth and practicality - black jeans, a fitted dark gray top, and a leather jacket. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, revealing the delicate curve of her neck. She moved with a fluid grace that belied her supernatural nature, her form shimmering slightly at the edges, as if she wasn't quite solid.
As Mimic approached, Damien's eyes flickered towards her, dark and unreadable. "What news of Elena?" he asked, his voice still low and resonant in the quiet room, though lacking some of its former power.
Mimic took a breath, organizing her thoughts. Her gaze briefly lingered on Damien's scar before she spoke, a flicker of concern crossing her features. "There are rumors, my lord," she began, her voice careful and measured. "Of a woman in town who matches Elena's description. She runs a brothel, apparently quite a high-end establishment."
Damien's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at the news, the scar on his face stretching with the movement. He leaned forward slightly, his movements measured and slow, as if each action required great effort.
"A brothel? How... fitting." A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Tell me more."
Mimic perched on the edge of an armchair opposite Damien, her posture tense. "The brothel is called 'The Red zone' It's located in the heart of the entertainment district. Very exclusive, very discreet. The owner is said to be a woman of extraordinary beauty and charm, who only appears at night."
"That certainly sounds like Elena," Damien mused, his long fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the arm of the sofa. "You've done well to uncover this information so quickly, Mimic."
The praise sent a warm glow through Mimic, but she tempered her reaction. "Thank you, my lord. However, there's a complication. The brothel doesn't open until midnight. We'll have to wait here until then."
Damien nodded slowly, considering this information. "I see. Well, we might as well make use of this time." His gaze drifted to the hotel's room service menu on the side table, a flicker of something almost nostalgic crossing his face.
"Mimic," he began, his voice taking on an unusual tone, "I think we should order some food."
Mimic's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Food, my lord? But we don't..."
Mimic nodded, understanding the unspoken command. "Of course, my lord. I'll prepare myself as well."
As Damien made his slow, laborious way towards the bathroom, Mimic watched with a mixture of admiration and worry. Even in his weakened state, his pride and determination remained unbroken. She only hoped it would be enough for the challenges that lay ahead.
When it was her turn to use the bathroom, Mimic took a quick, hot shower, letting the water wash away some of her tension. She dressed carefully in dark, form-fitting clothes that would allow her to blend into the shadows if necessary.
As she emerged from the bathroom, she found Damien sitting by the window, gazing out at the city. He had changed into a fresh outfit, even more elegant than the one he'd worn earlier. The crisp blue of his shirt contrasted sharply with the darkness of his jacket, emphasizing his pale skin.
"It's almost time," Damien said, not turning from the window. "Are you ready, Mimic?"
Mimic straightened, squaring her shoulders. "Yes, my lord. I'm ready."
Damien turned to face her, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Good".
A tense silence fell over the room. Damien stared back at the city below, his reflection ghostly in the glass. Mimic remained still, watching him carefully.
"Two years," Damien murmured, almost to himself. "Two years I've been in this miserable state. And now, I may be mere hours away from getting myself again." He turned back to Mimic, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made her want to look away. But she held his gaze, as she always did.
"Tell me, Mimic," Damien said, his voice deceptively soft. "What do you think we'll find when we finally face Elena? Do you believe she'll be willing to help me?"
Mimic considered her words carefully. "I... I don't know, my lord. Elena has always been unpredictable. But if she's been hiding all this time, I doubt she'll welcome our arrival with open arms."
Damien laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "No, I don't suppose she will." He leaned his back comfortably to the sofa. "We have just an hour to wait. Tell me what else you've learned about this city, about Elena's potential allies or enemies here."
Mimic nodded, launching into a more detailed report of her findings.
The sun slowly sank below the horizon, painting the sky in vivid shades of orange and pink before fading to deep blue.
After an hour had passed, and the tension in the room grew palpable. Mimic found herself growing restless, her form shimmering more noticeably as her concentration wavered. Damien, in contrast, remained utterly still, his patience seemingly infinite.
At half past eleven, Damien finally stirred. "It's time," he said, rising to his feet.