Elias had experienced many uncomfortable situations in his long existence, but none quite like finding himself waiting outside a werewolf's bedroom door with a mug of coffee.

  It had been two weeks since Noah moved in. Two weeks of adjusting his carefully ordered life to accommodate someone who seemed constitutionally incapable of hanging up a towel. Two weeks of heightened senses, constantly aware of another presence in his space.

  And yet, here he was, listening to the soft, steady breathing of his sleeping roommate, a peace offering in hand.

  "This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself, turning to leave. The floorboard creaked beneath his foot.

  "Elias?" Noah's sleep-rough voice called from inside.

  Caught, Elias stiffened. "Yes. I—" He cleared his throat. "I thought you might want coffee before your meeting with the Council."

  The door opened, revealing Noah in rumpled pajama pants, hair standing in all directions, eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. "You made me coffee?"

  Elias extended the mug, careful to avoid brushing fingers. "Bck, no sugar. You mentioned it was your preference."

  Noah took the offering, genuine surprise warming his features. "Thanks. That's... thoughtful."

  "I'm capable of thoughtfulness," Elias said, more defensively than he'd intended.

  Noah's lips curved into a smile. "Never doubted it." He sipped the coffee, a small sound of appreciation escaping him. "Perfect strength."

  Elias tried not to feel pleased. "Your Council meeting. It's about the housing crisis?"

  Noah nodded, leaning against the doorframe. "They want input from business owners. Rumors of a builders' syndicate hoarding properties, driving up prices to force supernaturals into human neighborhoods."

  "Deliberate segregation," Elias mused. "Some would prefer us scattered and divided."

  "My thoughts exactly." Noah studied him over the rim of his mug. "You should come. Your perspective would be valuable."

  Elias blinked, taken aback by the invitation. "The Council and I have... differences of opinion."

  "All the more reason to speak up." Noah stepped back into his room, leaving the door open—an invitation. "Meeting's at sunset. I'm heading there from the diner." He disappeared into his closet, voice slightly muffled. "Think about it."

  Elias remained in the doorway, momentarily transfixed by the casual intimacy of watching Noah select a shirt, the py of muscles across his back as he stretched. He averted his gaze. "I'll consider it."

  "That's all I'm asking." Noah emerged with a dark green button-down. "Mind if I use the bathroom first? Promise I'll hang up the towel this time."

  "By all means." Elias stepped back, oddly flustered. "I have errands to run before the sun sets anyway."

  Noah paused, concern flickering across his features. "You're going out in daylight?"

  "I'm quite old," Elias said simply. "Sunlight is uncomfortable but no longer deadly to me. I merely... prefer the night."

  "Learn something new every day." Noah smiled, then hesitated. "Hey, about yesterday—sorry if I overstepped. With the whole dinner thing."

  Yesterday. Noah had prepared a meal—actual human food—and set the table for two, ciming he "thought Elias might enjoy the company." The gesture had caught Elias so off guard that he'd reacted poorly, making a cutting remark about not needing to "py house" with a temporary roommate.

  "It was... unexpected," Elias admitted. "I'm not accustomed to sharing meals. Or much of anything, really."

  "Got that impression." Noah's expression was unreadable. "The offer stands, though. Anytime."

  Before Elias could respond, Noah disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him standing in the hallway, unsettled by the genuine warmth in the werewolf's voice.

  The antiquarian bookshop on Cobalt Street had been Elias's sanctuary for decades. Nestled between a modern coffee shop and a tarot reader's studio, Tempus Libri existed in its own pocket of quiet timelessness. The owner, Margaret, was one of the few humans who knew what Elias was and didn't care.

  "You look troubled," she observed as he examined a 17th-century botanical text. "Housing crisis getting to you?"

  "Is there anyone in this city who doesn't know my personal business?" Elias sighed, carefully turning a delicate page.

  Margaret chuckled, her silver hair catching the gentle shop light. "Small supernatural community. Word travels." She studied him over her reading gsses. "Heard you got a werewolf. Diner owner?"

  "Noah Parker. Yes." Elias traced a detailed illustration of a beldonna pnt. "It's temporary."

  "Everything is, dear. Especially for your kind." She pced a cup of tea beside him—she always had tea waiting, one of the many reasons he valued her company. "How are you finding the arrangement?"

  Elias considered the question. "Challenging. He's very... present."

  "Most living things are." Her eyes twinkled. "Not a criticism, just an observation."

  "He keeps inviting me to his diner." Elias shook his head. "As if I have any business being there."

  "Heaven forbid you experience something new after mere centuries." Her tone was dry. "Might disrupt that carefully cultivated ennui you wear like a second skin."

  Elias shot her a look. "I pay you for books, not psychoanalysis."

  "The psychoanalysis is complimentary." She patted his hand. "Now, tell me about this rare edition you're searching for. The Moravian grimoire?"

  For the next hour, Elias lost himself in discussions of binding techniques and provenance, the familiar rhythm of bibliophiles' conversation soothing his frayed nerves. As the daylight began to fade, he reluctantly prepared to leave.

  "The Council meeting," Margaret said as she wrapped his purchases. "You're going, aren't you?"

  Elias frowned. "How did you—"

  "Noah called. Asked me to encourage you." She smiled at his expression. "I told you, small community."

  "He called you?" Elias was incredulous. "How does he even know you?"

  "His diner serves the best midnight pancakes in the city. I'm old, not dead." She handed him the package. "Go to the meeting, Elias. It wouldn't kill you to be part of the community you've lived alongside for decades."

  Elias accepted the books with a scowl. "I preferred you when you just sold me overpriced first editions and kept your opinions to yourself."

  "No, you didn't." She smiled, utterly unfazed. "Now go on. Your werewolf is waiting."

  "He's not my werewolf," Elias muttered, but the protest sounded weak even to his own ears.

  The Supernatural Council convened in the basement of what appeared to be an abandoned theater. Elias arrived just as sunset painted the sky in deep purples and oranges, navigating the hidden entrance with the ease of long familiarity.

  The chamber was already crowded, representatives from every supernatural faction present. Vampires clustered near the back walls, fae folk shimmered near enchanted fountains, were-creatures of all types gathered in loose packs. Elias spotted Noah immediately, his broad shoulders and warm presence drawing the eye even in this eclectic gathering.

  Noah's face lit up when he saw Elias—a genuine smile that caused an unexpected flutter in Elias's chest. He gestured to an empty seat beside him, shifting to make room in the crowded row.

  "You came," Noah said as Elias settled next to him.

  "Margaret can be quite persuasive." Elias straightened his sleeves. "Among other things."

  Noah chuckled. "I like her. She says you've been buying books from her since she was a girl."

  "An exaggeration," Elias murmured, though it wasn't, not really. "What have I missed?"

  "Just preliminaries. They're about to call for testimony about the housing issues." Noah leaned closer, his warmth radiating against Elias's cooler skin. "Thanks for coming. It means a lot."

  Before Elias could respond, a hush fell over the gathering as the Council members entered—thirteen representatives, one from each major supernatural cssification. The vampire councilor, Victoria, caught Elias's eye with surprise. Her raised eyebrow clearly asked: What are you doing here?

  The meeting proceeded with the tedious efficiency of bureaucracy everywhere. Reports were given, statistics shared, grievances aired. Noah was called to speak about the impact on business owners and his customers.

  "The housing crisis affects everyone," Noah stated clearly, his voice carrying through the chamber. "My diner serves all supernatural kinds, and I'm hearing the same story night after night. Rents tripling. Eviction notices. Longtime community members forced to leave their homes."

  A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

  "What's interesting," Noah continued, "is the pattern. Properties are being bought by shell companies that all trace back to the same investment group. A group with known ties to humans who'd prefer us nowhere near their neighborhoods."

  The Council chambers erupted in angry voices. Victoria raised a hand for silence.

  "These are serious allegations, Mr. Parker. Do you have proof?"

  Noah hesitated. "Not concrete evidence, no. But—"

  "Then we're dealing in rumors," she said dismissively. "Hardly the basis for Council action."

  "It's not just rumors." Elias found himself standing, every eye in the room turning to him in surprise. "I've been tracking property transfers in the antiquarian district. Eighty percent of supernatural-owned properties have changed hands in the past six months. The buyers? All subsidiaries of Argent Holdings."

  Victoria's eyes narrowed. "And who is behind Argent Holdings?"

  "That's what's interesting." Elias met her gaze steadily. "The company exists on paper only. But the signing authority belongs to Gregory Westfield."

  The name dropped like a stone into still water. Gregory Westfield was known to all present—a vampire hunter turned politician, now serving on the human city council.

  "You have documentation?" Victoria asked, her tone shifting from dismissive to intent.

  "I do." Elias nodded. "Property records, corporate filings, financial transfers. I've been collecting them for months."

  "Why didn't you bring this to the Council sooner?" demanded the werewolf councilor.

  Elias's smile was cold. "Because the st time I appeared before this Council, I was told my 'old-fashioned paranoia' was unwelcome. Things had changed. That we were moving toward a new era of supernatural-human retions."

  An uncomfortable silence fell.

  Noah stood beside him, a solid presence. "Things have changed. Just not in the way we hoped." He addressed the Council directly. "We need to act now, before more of our community loses their homes. Before we're scattered and isoted."

  Victoria leaned forward. "What do you propose, Mr. Parker?"

  "A community housing trust," Noah said promptly. "Pool our resources, buy properties back from these shell companies before they can be redeveloped. Create affordable housing for all supernatural beings."

  "Ambitious," Victoria observed. "But it would require significant cooperation between factions that haven't always been... harmonious."

  "Like a vampire and werewolf sharing an apartment?" Noah's hand found Elias's shoulder, a warm weight that felt both foreign and strangely right. "If we can make it work, anyone can."

  Elias felt the eyes of the entire chamber on them—curiosity, surprise, even suspicion. Yet for once, he didn't feel the need to pull away, to retreat into his customary solitude.

  "The Council will need to review Mr. Bckwood's evidence," Victoria announced. "And consider Mr. Parker's proposal. We'll reconvene in three days' time."

  As the meeting dispersed, Noah turned to Elias, eyes bright with something like admiration. "You've been investigating this all along? Why didn't you tell me?"

  "It didn't seem relevant to our living arrangement," Elias said stiffly.

  "Right." Noah shook his head, but he was smiling. "Because researching the very crisis that forced us to live together wasn't relevant."

  "Perhaps I should have mentioned it," Elias conceded.

  They were interrupted by Victoria, who approached with the deliberate grace of the very old. "Elias. It's been decades." Her gaze shifted to Noah. "And Mr. Parker. I must say, I'm surprised to see you two... aligned."

  "Desperate times," Elias replied smoothly.

  "Indeed." Her ancient eyes assessed them both. "The evidence you mentioned. I'll send someone to collect it tomorrow. Assuming your... roommate doesn't object to a vampire visitor?"

  "My diner serves everyone," Noah said evenly. "Our apartment does too."

  "How progressive." Victoria's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Until tomorrow, then."

  As she glided away, Noah let out a breath. "Well, she's terrifying."

  "She's over a thousand years old," Elias murmured. "Terrifying is her baseline."

  Noah ughed, the sound drawing more than a few curious gnces from the departing crowd. "I don't suppose you'd consider stopping by the diner before heading home? I'm opening te tonight because of the meeting, but we could grab a booth. Talk strategy."

  Elias hesitated. His first instinct was to refuse, to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of the apartment—or what had been a sanctuary before a certain werewolf had filled it with life and chaos.

  But something in Noah's expression—hope, perhaps, or simple friendliness—made him reconsider.

  "I suppose I am curious to see this establishment of yours," he said finally.

  Noah's answering smile was bright enough to rival the sun Elias had spent centuries avoiding. "Great! Fair warning, though—once the night hags try your coffee, they'll never leave you alone."

  "I've survived worse," Elias said dryly but found himself returning Noah's smile with a small one of his own.

  As they left the Council chambers together, Elias was acutely aware of the stares following them—a vampire and werewolf, not just tolerating each other but choosing each other's company. It was unprecedented, potentially scandalous.

  And yet, as Noah led the way into the cool night air, chatting about his diner's specialties and the characters Elias would meet there, he found he didn't particurly care what anyone thought.

  For the first time in longer than he could remember, Elias Bckwood was doing something unexpected. Something new.

  It was terrifying. And, if he were honest with himself, just a little bit exhirating.