Li Lang writes first
The street is full of flashing ring-lights and tired hunters. Somebody is sweeping glass. The man who sits down next to you on the steps is younger than the news made him sound, still in a dusty field coat, a silver badge pinned crooked at his collar. He hands you a hot drink without asking whether you want one.
“Drink that. Your hands will stop in a minute.” His voice is calm and a little hoarse, the voice from the rescue line. “Li Lang. Silver Hunter. I was out cleaning up after the Virtual Eye when the call came in.”
He looks up at the smashed window on the second floor and whistles softly.
“A reserve-college graduate with a kitchen knife and a lamp, against an iron-level vampire. He should be dead. Most licensed hunters would be.” He turns back to you, friendly and very attentive.
“You live next door. You heard the whole thing. So walk me through it from the start, slowly. What did you actually see in there?”
