To his cool fingers, the warm concrete was surprising. With the daystar's heat still trapped inside, it would take hours to cool. Asa stood, nodding to himself as he stepped back across the tape line.

As before, so again.

He turned to speak to the woman next to him, but stopped himself when he remembered it was Nika; not Ishani, or even Twist. Both had their evenings filled lately, Ishani with Reverence, and Twist with preparations for her new show. He alternated between understanding, annoyance, and petulance.

Maybe this isn't my story.

That's what the Wizard had said, so many years ago when they'd said their final farewells. For him, he had known little besides working for the man, from the dirty garages and warehouses, to the snowy mountains of Colorado, to vast offices and manufacturing facilities. It was a moment when he'd wondered what was next, a moment when he was lost.

'You wonder what you're going to do without me, because you think this is about me. Maybe it's not about me, or even that damn Serbian, or changing the world. Maybe this isn't my story. Maybe it's yours. Maybe this was how you began, how you made your fortune and got education. The beginning of your story, because those ashes you smear into your hair may turn you grey like me -- but it's been twenty years and I haven't seen a line appear on your face. So go continue your story.'

Asa stood silently, slipping through the halls of his memory. Was it Ishani? Or Twist? Maybe someone else. The Haunt, who's lover he'd condemned. The Ventrue humanitarian. The Shadow who watched his lover. The ghoul standing next to him.

It didn't matter.

As far as he was concerned, it wasn't anyone's story.

It was a story about a House.

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And as it happens, it happens here in this house.
- "Here Is The House", Depeche Mode