The duel was over, but Wednesday Addams' mind was not.
She had seen the way Dirk moved—or rather, didn't move. He had reduced Ajax to dust with less effort than one expends brushing lint off a coat. No flourish, no arrogance, no wasted motion. Just calm inevitability.
That was not human.
Wednesday didn't clap, didn't cheer. Her pen had nearly torn through the page of her notebook as she scribbled, faster and faster, trying to capture the moment before it slipped away. But words were inadequate. Dirk Sanchez was a puzzle that no ink could solve.
And puzzles demanded solutions.
---
The Confrontation
She found him later that evening, in one of Nevermore's quieter corridors. Dirk was leaning against a stone archway, broad shoulders relaxed, eyes fixed on the night sky through the stained-glass window.
"Enjoying your victory lap?" she asked, her voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel.
Dirk didn't move. "Didn't know I signed up for one."
Wednesday stepped closer, her boots echoing softly on the floor. "You humiliated Ajax without breaking a sweat. That doesn't happen without training… or something worse."
Dirk finally looked at her. His gaze was steady, unreadable, and it made her pulse tick faster in her throat.
"You always assume the worst," he said quietly.
"It's never failed me before."
---
The Push
Wednesday circled him like a vulture, notebook clutched to her chest. "You don't fight like someone who learned in a classroom. You fight like someone who's survived. Someone who's killed."
Dirk's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.
Wednesday's lips curved ever so slightly. "There it is. A crack. You hate being seen."
He leaned down then, so close she could see the faint reflection of herself in his dark eyes. His voice was soft, but it thrummed with restrained power.
"You're not seeing me, Wednesday. You're projecting. Whatever monster you think I am… it's your own shadow you're chasing."
Her heart stuttered once—only once—but enough for her to know he was right.
And yet, instead of recoiling, she stepped closer.
---
The Shift
"Even if you are a monster," she whispered, pen poised as if to write the words into existence, "I'd rather know the monster than be bored with sheep."
Dirk studied her for a long, unreadable moment.
Then, with a faint, humorless smile, he said: "Careful. If you keep feeding that curiosity, you won't stop until it devours you."
Wednesday's eyes burned. "Then let it."
The silence that followed was not empty—it was charged, alive, straining against the edges of something unspoken.
---
The Retreat
Finally, Dirk turned, walking past her with the quiet authority of a man who owned the shadows.
"You'll find your answers, Wednesday," he said over his shoulder. "But not tonight."
Her hand clenched around the pen until her knuckles went white. She hated being denied. She hated being left with questions unanswered.
But most of all, she hated the thrill that curled in her chest every time Dirk Sanchez walked away.
Because with every step he took, she only wanted to follow.