The road outside Elysium is cordoned off with reams of yellow and black police tape, and a small herd of mortals have crowded around at regular intervals, talking among themselves as they speculate about what might have happened late last night. A quick glance up the building's mirrored face confirms what you already knew—the windows of the Elysium floor have been blown out and the pavement is littered with a liberal peppering of broken glass. Someone must have known about the Hunt last night. No one would have dared such a brazen attack on the heart of Ottawa's Kindred society unless they knew many of the heaviest hitters were off the table for the night.
You spot Qui at the front door giving orders to one of his officers as he ties his long, dark hair back in a ponytail. It's almost enough to make you gawk—you don't think you've ever seen the Sheriff do such a thing—but you manage to keep from embarrassing yourself. For years, you've heard the rumors of unnatural scarring on Qui's neck—evidence of what remains of his Nosferatu curse—but on closer examination you're disappointed to find a tightly wrapped black scarf hiding any offending marks that might have otherwise been on display.
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