You shut off the little device and slip it into your sylladex before looking at at the rear view mirror at the driver. He keeps giving you anxious glances. Nothing like a clearly dangerous member of the undead as a passenger.
"Take me to the station, sugar."
You have a prized fighter to visit. Someone whose resentment for the little jadeblood isn’t as deep as yours, but it’s still there. Perfectly preserved in ice.
Every leader needs herself a worthy second in command. And you just KNOW he’ll be happy to see you, especially in your new skin.