Baron Cassian Bckwood awoke exactly at sunset. No arm was necessary; five years as a vampire had calibrated his internal clock with astronomical precision. He y motionless for exactly thirty seconds, conducting a rapid assessment of his physical condition after the daylight dormancy.

  His quarters reflected his nature—minimalist compared to typical vampire luxury, with military corners on the bed and precisely arranged furniture. The only decoration was a framed set of combat medals from his human life, positioned where they'd be the first thing he saw each evening.

  Cassian rose and moved to his desk where Morris, his household manager, had left the day's security reports in a precisely aligned stack. He scanned them with vampire speed, absorbing information faster than any human could process it.

  "Security breach at north perimeter fence. Three humans. Detained. Blood farm capacity at 94%. Blood quality metrics stable. Court correspondence requiring response: seventeen items."

  Cassian's jaw tightened at the st item. Court correspondence was the bane of his existence—aristocratic vampires apparently couldn't communicate without baroque flourishes and ceremonial nguage. He set the paperwork aside for ter and dressed efficiently in the dark, each movement economical and practiced.

  His quarters opened directly to his command center—formerly the estate's grand dining room, now converted into a tactical operations hub. Multiple screens dispyed territory maps, security feeds, and resource metrics. Three humans and one vampire were already at their stations, monitoring the nighttime operations.

  "Status report," Cassian said by way of greeting.

  Morris stepped forward with a tablet. Unlike most human servants in vampire households, he wore no colr or ownership mark—Cassian found such dispys inefficient and demeaning. Instead, Morris wore a simple bck uniform with a small insignia denoting his management position.

  "Good evening, Baron. Security team detained three human trespassers at 14:37. They cimed to be foraging but were found with mapping equipment. They've been processed and added to the blood farm general popution after medical screening."

  Cassian nodded once. "Blood farm status?"

  Morris swiped to a new screen. "Dr. Jenkins reports all metrics within acceptable parameters. One anomalous blood test requiring your attention. Feeding rotation proceeding on schedule."

  "Very well. I'll inspect the facility after the morning briefing. Security?"

  "Thomas has scheduled perimeter training for 22:00. All systems operational."

  "Court correspondence?"

  At this, Morris's professional demeanor cracked slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Seventeen items requiring response. Six invitations, four formal acknowledgments, three territory disputes requiring witness statements, and four..."

  "Yes?"

  "Four social inquiries from noble houses with unmarried daughters."

  Cassian exhaled slowly. "Prioritize the territory disputes. Decline the invitations citing territory management requirements. Acknowledge the social inquiries with standard formal appreciation."

  "Of course, Baron."

  The command center team returned to their duties as Cassian moved through the morning security briefing. Each section leader reported in military fashion—concise, factual, and without embellishment. This was how Cassian preferred to operate, a stark contrast to the flowery nguage and political maneuvering of vampire court.

  After the briefing, Cassian proceeded to his vehicle—a bck SUV modified for vampire use with enhanced window tinting. He preferred to drive himself rather than use a human driver, another quirk that aristocratic vampires found peculiar. The estate grounds were extensive, with the blood farm facility located two miles from the main house.

  The blood farm facility came into view—a converted hospital complex with modern security measures. Unlike the brutal harvesting centers many nobles operated, Cassian's facility resembled a medical center. Humans wore simple uniforms rather than rags, and while they weren't free, they weren't kept in cages either.

  Dr. Jenkins waited at the entrance, medical tablet in hand. The human doctor had been a military physician before the outbreak—one reason Cassian had recruited him specifically. He understood triage, resource management, and operating under pressure.

  "Evening, Baron," Jenkins said with a crisp nod. "I've prepared a full report on the anomalous blood test. Preliminary results suggest a nutritional deficiency rather than infection."

  Cassian walked alongside the doctor as they entered the facility. "Show me."

  They proceeded through clinically clean hallways to the medical section, where Jenkins dispyed charts showing blood quality metrics across different human groups. Cassian studied them with focused attention, occasionally asking precise questions about variables and controls.

  "Adjust their diet immediately," he instructed after reviewing the data. "Monitor for improvement over the next three days."

  "Yes, Baron."

  The inspection continued through each section of the blood farm. Cassian observed the feeding stations with critical attention, occasionally correcting techniques or asking pointed questions about efficiency improvements. Unlike most vampire nobles who viewed feeding as a pleasure activity, Cassian approached it as a logistical operation requiring optimization.

  Eliza, the blood farm supervisor, guided him through the harvest schedule and recent adjustments. "We've increased efficiency by 4.3% with the new rotation schedule, and human recovery times have decreased by nearly a day."

  "Good. Maintain detailed records of the improvements. I want comparative data for the quarterly report."

  Cassian's methodical inspection continued throughout the facility. He spoke directly with technicians and security personnel, never raising his voice or using supernatural intimidation, yet commanding absolute respect through his precise questions and evident expertise.

  The security center was his next stop, where Thomas—his head of security and a former military colleague—waited with his team. The security monitors dispyed all sections of the perimeter, with heat signatures identifying movement near the territory boundaries.

  "Perimeter status?" Cassian asked, examining the dispys.

  "All sectors secure, sir. We've increased drone surveilnce on the north boundary following yesterday's incursion."

  Cassian nodded. "Run a full penetration test on the southeast section tonight. I want to identify any vulnerabilities before they become problems."

  "Yes, sir."

  After completing his inspection, Cassian returned to his estate office for the task he'd been avoiding: court correspondence. Morris had arranged the papers in order of priority, with draft responses prepared for Cassian's review.

  The first was a formal territory dispute requiring his witness statement—a border disagreement between two nobles that Cassian had observed during a regional council meeting. Morris had prepared a factual, concise statement of what Cassian had seen.

  Cassian read it, then looked at the required response format. The court tempte featured ornate borders and required the statement to begin with three paragraphs of formal greetings, acknowledgments of noble lineages, and ritualized expressions of honor before the actual information could be provided.

  "This is absurd," Cassian muttered. He also couldn't understand why they didn't send emails instead of physical letters for every little thing.

  Morris, standing nearby, maintained his professional demeanor despite the slight twitch of his lips. "The Court Protocol Office rejected your st statement for 'insufficient ceremonial acknowledgment,' Baron."

  Cassian exhaled slowly. "Revise according to protocol. Maintain the factual content precisely."

  The next item was worse—an invitation to a blood ceremony, requiring a formal response with at least two paragraphs expining why his "esteemed presence would regrettably be absent from the honored gathering."

  "Decline. Territory security concerns." Cassian made a note on the margin. "That's seven words. They want two paragraphs?"

  "The st time you declined with a single sentence, Lady Bathory suggested to the Marquis that you might benefit from 'remedial etiquette instruction,'" Morris reminded him.

  Cassian's expression darkened momentarily. "Draft something appropriate." He paused. "But not too appropriate. I don't want to encourage future invitations."

  The social inquiries were the most irritating—thinly veiled attempts to gauge his interest in political marriages with daughters of various noble houses. Despite having little interest in vampire politics, his territory's efficiency had made him an unexpectedly desirable connection.

  "Standard responses to these," he said, setting them aside after a cursory gnce.

  Morris nodded, collecting the papers. "I've taken the liberty of drafting responses with the precise minimum of required formality. They'll satisfy protocol without suggesting enthusiasm."

  Cassian almost smiled. "Efficient, as always."

  "I try to apply your principles, Baron. Maximum result, minimum waste—even with words."

  As Morris departed with the correspondence, Cassian turned to the operational reports waiting for his review. Blood production metrics, security logs, and resource allocation charts—the real work of territory management that most vampire nobles delegated to underlings while they attended blood ceremonies and political gatherings.

  He worked methodically through the night, reviewing each report with military precision, making notes for process improvements and identifying potential issues before they developed into problems. This was what he excelled at—turning chaos into order, applying tactical thinking to resource management.

  The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed three times. Cassian gnced at the remaining paperwork, then at the territory map on his wall, mentally calcuting patrol rotations and resource allocations for the coming day.

  When Morris returned an hour ter with the completed correspondence for his signature, Cassian was still reviewing security protocols.

  "The blood ceremony decline is ready for your signature, Baron," Morris said, pcing an ornate document before him. "I've emphasized your regrets while citing critical territory management duties."

  Cassian gnced at the flowery nguage filling an entire page to communicate what could have been said in a single sentence. He shook his head slightly but signed the document.

  "They'll waste more time reading this than I spent signing it," he commented.

  Morris's expression remained professional, but his eyes showed amusement. "Aristocratic vampires appear to measure importance by word count, sir."

  "And paper weight," Cassian added, noting the heavy parchment. "Have we considered electronic submission of these responses? Surely even the Court Protocol Office has entered the digital age."

  "I inquired st month, sir. They informed me that 'proper ceremonial correspondence requires tangible manifestation of respect through traditional mediums.'"

  Cassian stared at him. "They said no to emails."

  "In considerably more words, yes."

  Cassian sighed and returned to signing the documents. "Prepare the vehicle for tomorrow night's inspection of the northern sector. I want to review the security upgrades personally."

  "Of course, Baron. Will there be anything else?"

  Cassian looked at the stack of signed correspondence—hours of bureaucratic nonsense that contributed nothing to the actual functioning of his territory. "No. That will be all."

  After Morris departed, Cassian moved to the window overlooking his domain. Lights from the blood farm and security perimeter created patterns in the darkness. Five years ago, he had awakened to a changed world—transformed into a predator by the virus that had decimated human civilization.

  Many embraced their new existence as an excuse for excess and cruelty. Cassian had chosen differently, applying the same strategic thinking that had guided his military career to his vampire existence. Efficiency, sustainability, precision—principles that served him well regardless of his nature.

  The vampire aristocracy might waste time with eborate ceremonies and political games, but reality would eventually force adaptation. His territory stood as proof that there were alternatives to both human chaos and vampire decadence.

  Cassian turned from the window and returned to his desk, where the final operational reports waited for his review. The night's routine would continue as it always did—with methodical precision and no wasted effort.

  Just as he preferred it.