Mila Torres did not sleep.
She sat in her dark, quiet apartment, the case file for "VICKY THORNE" spread open on her coffee table. It was no longer an investigation; it was an obsession.
The events at the Grand Veros Hotel played on a loop in her mind. He knew. He knew she was lying. His casual takedown of her "analyst" cover, his terrifyingly accurate guess that she was "trained," had been a clean, surgical strike against her confidence. He hadn't just dodged her trap; he had admired its construction, pointed out its flaws, and then walked away, leaving her alive.
And then... there was Alex, the waiter.
Mila was a cop. She'd seen kindness, but it was usually messy, emotional, and flawed. Vicky's kindness had been the opposite. It was executed with the same ruthless, terrifying efficiency as his corporate raids. He hadn't just helped the boy; he had ended the problem. He'd paid for a future and destroyed a bully in a single text message.
She'd come to trap a monster and instead found a king. A man who wielded absolute power with both terrifying cruelty (to the deserving) and shocking gentleness (to the helpless).
"Your heart... is fascinating," he'd said.
Mila pressed the back of her hand to her chest. Her heart, which she'd trained to be steady under gunfire, was a chaotic mess. She was deeply, dangerously charmed. She tried to frame it professionally: He's a paradox, a vigilante, he's still a threat. But her gut, the same gut that had put her on his trail, was now telling her something far more alarming: He's a better man than anyone I know.
She couldn't stop. She couldn't drop the case. But it wasn't about the law anymore. She just had to know who he was.
The Veros Student Future Fund,
The next day, Vicky Thorne was back at Veros University, and the campus was buzzing. The story of Alex Preston, the pre-med waiter whose entire four-year tuition was paid by a mysterious benefactor, had spread like wildfire. Alex, in his gratitude, had told everyone who would listen: "It was Vicky Thorne."
Vicky wasn't there to take credit. He was there to make it official. He'd called a meeting with the university's Dean of Admissions.
Mila, catching wind of the meeting, was there in minutes. She stood at the back of the university's main atrium, using her old "financial analyst" cover to blend in, her notepad held up like a shield. She was just an observer.
The Dean, a woman who had once dismissed Vicky as a non-entity, was now beaming at him in front of local news cameras.
"Mr. Thorne," the Dean gushed, "we are just... overwhelmed by your generosity to Mr. Preston."
"That was just a prelude, Madam Dean," Vicky said, his voice calm and carrying. He gestured to a prepared banner behind him. It read: THE VEROS STUDENT FUTURE FUND.
"I was a student here," Vicky said, addressing the small crowd. "I remember what it was to have potential, but no resources. I remember the fear of failing, not because you weren't smart enough, but because you weren't rich enough."
Mila watched him, her breath catching. His - Blood Sense was passive, a low thrum in the back of his mind, but he felt her spike of interest from across the room. He turned his head and his eyes met hers for a single, charged second. He gave her no smile, just a simple, knowing acknowledgment. You're here. Of course you are.
Mila's heart hammered. 95 BPM.
"Potential shouldn't be a privilege," Vicky continued, turning back to the Dean. "The 'Veros Student Future Fund' is my new charity. Its sole purpose is to find students like Alex Preston—students with the talent, but not the means—and ensure they can pursue their futures without the burden of debt."
He handed the Dean a ceremonial check. The number on it made Mila's eyes widen: $10,000,000.
"This will be the initial seed money," Vicky said. "It will cover the full tuition and living expenses for fifty students, effective immediately. My only condition is that the selection process is based on need and merit, not just grades. Find the ones who are struggling. They're the ones who will change the world."
The atrium erupted in applause. Vicky just smiled, a small, genuine smile. This wasn't an act. He remembered Seraphina, Damien, and the crushing weight of his own poverty. This felt... good. It was a different kind of power.
As the crowd surged, Mila stayed back, her mind reeling. He wasn't just fixing one problem; he was fixing the system that had created the problem.
She watched as a shy engineering student—a girl who reminded Vicky of his old friend Maya—pushed through the crowd, not to ask for money, but to show him a tablet with a complex design.
"Mr. Thorne? I... I heard you were in engineering," the student stammered. "My senior project... my professor said it's impossible, that the power-to-weight ratio is wrong..."
Vicky, instead of brushing her off, stopped. He took the tablet and looked at the design, his expression shifting from a philanthropist to a focused engineer.
"Your professor is thinking in two dimensions," Vicky said, his voice kind. "Your power loss isn't in the motor; it's in the gearing. If you use a helical gear set here, and countersink the housing..." He spent ten minutes, in the middle of his own press conference, genuinely and kindly deconstructing and solving her problem.
The girl's face lit up with pure, unadulterated joy. "Oh my god... you're right. Thank you! Thank you, Mr. Thorne!"
Vicky just nodded. "Keep building, kid. Don't let anyone tell you it's impossible."
Mila watched that small, quiet interaction, and her last wall of professional defense crumbled. The ten-million-dollar check was a power play. That... that was real.
She fled the atrium, her heart a chaotic storm of admiration and terror. Who are you?
The Night's Business,
That night, the philanthropist was gone. The predator returned.
Vicky stood in The Vault. Level 10 (0 / 6,000 XP). He needed to hunt.
"Marcus," Vicky said, "the Silent Dragon School is a long-term problem. I need XP now. What has your network found?"
Marcus Keller, now Level 7, pointed to a holographic map of the city. "Master, your 'date' with the detective was illuminating. Her old case files on the 'Red Flash' anomalies weren't all about you. She was tracking other signatures, creatures that hunt in the industrial sector. My new network has eyes on them. They call them Shadow Stalkers."
"Threat level?"
"Level 8 or 9. Fast, pack-hunters, highly aggressive. But they are simple beasts. No Chi. No tactics. Just hunger. They yield high XP."
"Perfect," Vicky said. "Elias. Alpha Squad. We're going hunting."
They moved out, a silent, nine-vampire death squad, their Tier 2 speed making them invisible blurs in the night. They found the nest in the abandoned shipping container yard.
The Stalkers were hideous—thin, vaguely reptilian creatures that moved on all fours, with skin that mimicked the darkness.
"Alpha Squad, lock down the perimeter," Elias (Lvl 7) commanded, his new - Blood Knight's Battle-Cry skill rolling out, a low-frequency wave that momentarily stunned the creatures. The fight was not a duel; it was a harvest.
Vicky moved among them like a phantom. His STR (16) and SPD (14) were so far beyond the Stalkers that it wasn't a fair fight. He didn't even use his claws. He used his new - Titan's Strength (Lvl 1) skill, his hands becoming like iron. He grabbed one Stalker by the head, crushing its skull with a single, contemptuous squeeze.
Shadow Stalker defeated.
+150 XP.
Another lunged. Vicky didn't dodge. He let it hit his
Blood Shield, which flared and sent the creature flying back with a broken spine.
Shadow Stalker defeated.
+150 XP.
The Alpha Squad (all Lvl 6) worked with brutal, terrifying efficiency. They used their - Pack Tactics skill, flanking and isolating the monsters, their - Blood Claws tearing them apart in seconds. In five minutes, the entire nest of twelve Stalkers was annihilated.
Vicky stood in the center of the carnage, not a single drop of blood on his suit.
VICKY THORNE: STATUS
XP Acquired: +1,800 XP
Total XP: 1,800 / 6,000 (To Lvl 11)
"Good work," Vicky said, his voice flat. "Clean the site. Marcus, find me another nest. We hunt until dawn."
He returned to his penthouse just as the first hint of sun touched the horizon. He stood under a scalding shower, washing away the faint, metallic scent of the Stalkers.
He thought of his day. The genuine smile of the engineering student. The applause. The $10 million donation. It felt real. It felt good.
Then he thought of the hunt. The crunch of bone. The rush of XP. The feeling of absolute, unquestioned power. That, too, felt real.
And then, he thought of Mila. He had felt her pulse quicken when he helped the student. She was falling for the mask, not understanding that the mask was just as real as the monster beneath it.
She's trying to find the man, he mused, without realizing she's walking into the spider's web. He found himself looking forward to her next text message, her next desperate attempt to understand him. Her presence was... a diversion. A fascinating, beautiful, and utterly harmless diversion.