80

Watching for Hauberk warily as you continue toward the exhibition hall, you notice a business card fall from your pocket. You quickly look back and forth before ducking down to pick it up and turn it over in your hands. The card is simple, with no graphics or embellishments. Bold, black letters proclaim an unsurprising name:

Bob Ward—Owner, Ward Construction and Demolition

There's an Ontario phone number at the bottom. On the reverse side, an Ottawa address has been printed in a crisp, steady hand. It's just off Somerset Street, in Chinatown—not far from where you are at all. Did Hauberk slip this into your pocket before he ran? He'd caught you off-guard even if you did best him in the end. You might have time to pay Ward a visit before the exhibition. Then again, it's likely to be some sort of trap.

You have no intention of walking into an ambush, no matter how curious you are about the meeting. Ward probably won't stick around the listed address for long, but it may be useful in the future regardless.

Your exertion over time has left you hungry. Extremely hungry. It gnaws at you with an impatient insistence telling you that finding a victim soon might be a wise choice. It's considered quite gauche to arrive at a Kindred gathering ravenous with hunger, after all. The court aren't known for listening respectfully to the words of a young vampire driven by pangs of visible thirst. It's bad enough that your fitted suit is already in poor shape after the evening's events.