"The best index to a person's character is how he treats people who can't do him any good, and how he treats people who can't fight back."

― Abigail Van Buren

"Jamerson."

"Ma'am, how was your evening..." He ventured, with a smirk in his voice.

I sighed and tucked my hands into my trench coat as I walked through Hyde Park. Winter was in full swing and the bite of frost hadn't been chased away just yet.

"Eventful."

He chuckled. "Do you have somewhere you need to be?"

"The Vault, around six this evening. I'm going to need some good wine."

"Very well, Ms Fletcher. I will be there." He answered promptly.

"Thank you." I pocketed the phone and gazed out across the half frozen lake. A few swans dared to brave its icy clutches.

The walk from Quinn's had given me time to reflect. I needed a purpose. That meant a job. Something to put these powers to use. A detective had worked well, but it wasn't the only sector that could use my... skills.

Perhaps a little less violence would be a nice change. 

But this city knew plenty of that. And those on the wrong side of it. I increased my pace and reached the final path before the trees would emerge before a sleek row of glass and modernity. My shoes echoed off the polished lobby floor and caught the attention of the first receptionist. Upon recognition she smiled warmly and murmured a good morning. I nodded and mirrored my own greeting before I made my way to the lift and scanned my building card.

It was still a marvel that Quinn Adams had made it past four members of security, a receptionist and a secure lift all with that sharp wit. I snorted as the doors opened to my familiar space.

I paced past the plush furnishings and sat before the long oak desk, stood before the floor to ceiling glass. The most perfect view and one of few where you could gaze upon treetops in the middle of the city.

I quickly typed across the integrated keyboard and drew up my results. Immortals didn't do this. They didn't merge themselves into mortal society. As for Elders..? They sat themselves inside that insidious hall in Bank and drank their fill. I shuddered to think of what else filled their time.

I scanned through many careers. There were so many.

Endless in their similarity and forcing one to sit in the same four walled room and "manage" or "engage with clients". If I had to read one more claim of, "an exciting, fast-paced work environment", I would break the table. Did none of these mortals have any originality anymore? Perhaps technology had eradicated most of that.

I sighed and pushed back in my office chair, letting it spin. Hopeless.

There had to be something I could be of use towards. Other than making another mortal money.

My phone vibrated.

I drew it up to my face.

"What are you doing, immortal?"

I smiled at the phone slowly.

"Nothing useful. Have you skirted around any laws today?"

"The day is still young. And I have a new skirt."

A very pleasant visual image of my hands tearing through one of Quinn's pencil skirts appeared. I stopped my spin in my chair.

"I wouldn't know anything about that, Lawyer. I've spent my morning reading uninspired career opportunities."

I had no doubt that she laughed at the idea of my hunt.

"Don't worry Fletcher, I can be the breadwinner for us."

I grinned.

"You already were before we met. Civil servant remember?"

There was a pause in her reply so I resumed my morale killing task. She was no doubt back to destroying whatever poor opposition made the mistake of picking law as a career. I snorted, typing quicker and throwing more websites before me.

Something did catch my eye.

Dreadnaught Security Solutions. London and Greater London Area. 

Requirements:  - Advanced driving - Counter-surveillance - Cyber-skills desirable - Firearms trained highly desirable

Contact directly for further detail.

I shouldn't. 

I had enough of a footprint in this city already. Gangs. Building fires. High-profile deaths. Paragon just a stone's throw from central London...

I scrolled down and read another Business Manager role that bragged about a "fast-paced environment" and returned straight back up to get those damn contact details. I'll take any hell over a slow grind into mindlessness.

It was curious that the firm requested a phone call before any formal CV. But they were likely schooled in the art of filtering, and no mortal in their right mind could gloss over firearms and enhanced driving capabilities. 

The phone answered on the second ring.

After a polite three minutes of questioning I was given an address at a head office. I raised an eyebrow and went along with it. Private security firms were a cagey bunch and I was curious about their own capabilities, let alone the job.

But this was as much for me to probe their nature as it was an opportunity for them to get a load of me.

They were in for quite a surprise.

I pushed back from my desk, mildly satisfied. The address was curious in itself. Canary Wharf was a high-profile financial district. The tallest buildings in the city and often the tallest salaries. The money meant nothing. If I was driving around bankers and CEOs I would end it. But as it stood... I needed something.

And why would a bunch of suits state that firearms training was highly desirable... They likely ventured no further from their skyscrapers all the way to their yachts. 

I'd know by tomorrow morning. At least they were efficient.

Quinn finally replied.

"You could always be my secretary."

I almost choked on the air.

This woman. Immortal in her audacity. 

"You'd better come to the apartment armed." I replied.

"I am." She replied simply. It took only a few seconds for an image to appear on my screen.

She'd unbuttoned her white shirt halfway down her chest. The phone almost slipped out of my hand as my entire body cooled. The dark lace underneath matched the darkness in my eyes. 

Armed indeed.

I let a breath go through my nose.

"How about you keep your weapons in a holster until you leave that building, Quinn." I typed, palming my face as I set the phone down.

She was impossible.

"Don't worry, Fletcher. It's a matching set."

I stared at those words. Then lifted my eyes to the city beyond the trees as if I could see her smirking back at me from that desk, with a pair of heels propped upon it.

"Keep taunting me, Adams, and you'll be shopping for another skirt."

"I could show you that too."

For the love of every God living or perished.

"Quinn."

"Fletcher."

She was enjoying herself far too much.

"Do some work." I finished, throwing the phone into the corner of the sofa and going for the bookshelf. 

I needed to purge my mind with literature before that fiery mortal infiltrated my every thought. I seemed to let it happen regardless. What would Cordius think of his finest pupil? Distracted, impatient, arrogant-not too much... but definitely undisciplined. I did remember enough to know it could get you killed in our world. To keep playing this game of mortality and immortality I needed to be both the timeless, demon of strength and power–and the woman Quinn fell in love with. Whatever it was she saw.

I pulled a thick book off the shelf. More of the Phycological Anthology. 

Perhaps 700 pages could teach me how to focus.