They didn't linger. With the precinct scanning for unvetted students and the midnight fog lashing against the floor-to-ceiling corridor windows, maintaining distance was equivalent to being safe.
Clara waved a tired hand and turned back again to her roommate filled a bit of a blush, completely unaware of the monstrous brawl that had taken place on the North Quad only hours prior.
Damon led them to the end of the hall, stopping before a set of double mahogany doors trimmed with brushed gold handles. He tapped a sleek, black key card against the electronic sensor. A soft green light flashed, the electronic lock disengaged with a solid mechanical thud, and the heavy doors swung inward.
The penthouse suite inside was nothing short of breathtaking.
Spanning over two thousand square feet of open-concept luxury, the room was designed in rich jewel tones—deep emerald velvet, warm brass accents, and dark stained oak.
A magnificent central chandelier composed of layered hand-blown glass teardrops hung from the coffered ceiling, casting soft, shimmering refractions across the broad hardwood borders. At the far end, an expansive glass curtain wall provided a sweeping panoramic view of the storm-swept Columbus skyline, where rain droplets trickled down the glass like molten silver against the distant neon city lights.
What caught everyone's immediate attention, however, was the sleeping arrangement. Arranged meticulously along the perimeter of the vast inner bedchamber were six grand, queen-sized poster beds. Each bed was lavishly appointed with crisp, high-thread-count white Egyptian cotton linens, plush charcoal-grey duvets, and an array of silk accent pillows.
Private reading sconces were mounted above each headboard, flanked by small mahogany nightstands holding crystal carafes of fresh water. A massive central lounge area separated the sleeping quarters, featuring a plush U-shaped sectional sofa wrapped around a low marble coffee table.
Fiona set her small leather handbag onto the corner of the marble table, her eyes wandering from the lavish chandelier to the sprawling skyline. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, a crease of deep confusion settling between her brows as she turned to face Damon.
"Alright, hold on," Fiona said, her voice laced with genuine perplexity as she looked at him.
"I've been trying to wrap my head around this the entire walk up here. Aren't there... rules for your kind? Old folklore, classic vampire traits, threshold and restrictions? How is it even possible for a vampire like you to walk straight into a place like this when it isn't yours? Don't you need an explicit invitation to cross a doorway?"
Damon leaned casually against the edge of a mahogany side table, adjusting the silver cufflinks on his navy waistcoat with slow elegance. A faint, amused smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.
"You're mixing up private dwellings with public infrastructure my dear Fiona,"
Damon explained softly, his voice smooth and untroubled.
"The ancient boundary laws—the blood-bound thresholds—apply strictly to private homes. A residence protected by a family's intent creates a spiritual barrier. But a place like the Huntington Center? A commercial hotel and public transit hub? It is built on open commerce. By its very design and legal charter, everyone is welcomed inside. Entering the building itself required no effort at all."
He straightened up, brushing a microscopic speck of dust from his sleeve.
"Now, acquiring an entire six-bed penthouse suite on twenty minutes' notice during a regional emergency, while simultaneously placing myself on the official staff roster to monitor the floor... that required a bit more direct intervention."
Claire raised an eyebrow. "How direct?"
"The regional director of operations," Damon replied simply, his lightless black eyes flashing with a momentary glint of remembered amusement.
"A very stressed gentleman by the surname of Ruben, first name Owen. Mr. Owen Ruben was sitting in his executive office on the third floor, panicking over the sudden influx of hundreds of stranded students. I simply walked into his office, sat across from his desk, and held his gaze for roughly fifteen seconds."
Lira let out a quiet chuckle from the sofa.
"Compulsion."
"Absolute compulsion," Damon confirmed with an incline of his head. "Mr. Ruben was more than happy to override the reservation system, clear out the entire twentieth-floor executive suite, issue six master key cards, and print me a formal staff badge identifying me as the chief midnight hospitality coordinator. No paperwork, no credit checks, no delays."
"And no gossip about you as an extra I suppose was part of the deal" Lira added as she noticed that even the other staffs didn't question Damon's presence or how he happened to be the chief midnight coordinator.
Holly on the other hand, clapped her hands together, letting out a low whistle. "Remind me to take you shopping the next time we need a vehicle upgrade."
While the girls began settling their bags onto the various beds, Ryan stood near the entryway, looking slightly out of place. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced around the lavish suite.
"So," Ryan started out of pure curiosity, looking directly at Damon.
"Where exactly are you staying? Because it's pretty obvious this six-bed suite was strictly reserved for the ladies, and I'm fairly certain I don't see a seventh bed in here. Unless you're planning on hanging from the ceiling like a bat, you don't seem like you have a spot here."
Damon chuckled softly, turning toward the double doors.
"Rest easy, Ryan. I have no intention of intruding the ladies' sanctuary. Down on the south corridor of this floor, there is a dedicated staff quarter—an attendant's suite used for midnight shifts and executive security. I secured the room directly adjacent to the service elevators."
He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a sharp, knowing grin aimed straight at Ryan.
"And as for you, my friend," Damon added, tossing a second black key card across the room. Ryan caught it cleanly out of the air.
"You're joining me. As far as the Huntington's internal roster is concerned, you've just been hired as my assistant night attendant. Your room is connected to mine in the south wing. We have a clear view of the stairwells and the main elevator bank from there."
Ryan looked down at the key card in his palm, a slow, wry smile spreading across his face.
"Assistant night attendant, huh? Does it come with dental?"
"It comes with a front-row seat to keeping this floor secure," Damon answered smoothly, stepping back toward the hallway.
"Get your bags sorted. The city is locked down, but the night is far from over."