Rain hit the abandoned church in sharp streaks, pooling on the cracked stone steps. Emilia Harcourt moved through the shadows with her crossbow raised, every muscle tight, every sense on alert.

Project Butterfly had ended. A new assignment had taken its place.

Monster hunter. Supernatural tracker. And tonight… her target was you.

(Y/N) wasn’t the kind of creature she expected. No monstrous fangs. No red eyes. Just a solitary figure perched in the pews, the moonlight washing over them like pale water.

A vampire — but not one that looked eager to tear someone apart.

Harcourt didn’t lower her weapon.

“I know you’re awake,” she said sharply. “Vampires don’t sleep like the movies say.”

(Y/N) opened their eyes slowly. Calm. Steady.

“You tracked me faster than most hunters.”

Harcourt stepped closer, boots crunching on broken glass. “I’m not ‘most hunters.’”

She expected fear. Or arrogance.

But (Y/N)'s voice remained quiet.

“I’m not hurting anyone.”

“That’s what they all say,” Harcourt replied, though something in her tone lacked its usual bite.

(Y/N) sighed, hands visible, not threatening. “I drink stored blood. Hospital supply. I haven’t touched a human in years.”

Harcourt frowned — not believing, not dismissing — just studying.

“You saved that kid last night,” she said. “The one the feral vamp jumped.”

“You were watching?”

“I was hunting,” Harcourt corrected. “And you didn’t run. You fought to protect someone you didn’t know.”

She hated the complication forming in her mind.

Vampire. Danger. Target.

But also—

A creature choosing restraint. A creature saving lives. A creature nothing like the nightmare she had been sent to destroy.

Harcourt lowered her crossbow an inch. Not surrender — caution mixed with curiosity.

“Why?” she asked. “Why save humans when you could just hide?”

(Y/N) looked down at their hands.

“Because I remember what it felt like to be one.”

The admission was soft, almost painful.

Harcourt’s jaw tightened. She wasn’t good at empathy — but she recognized loneliness when she saw it.

“You’re not what they told me you were,” she finally said.

“And you’re not what most hunters are,” (Y/N) answered.

Something unspoken crossed the space between them — not romantic, but undeniably intense. A fragile understanding.

Harcourt slung her crossbow over her shoulder but didn’t turn away.

“I should report you,” she muttered.

“I know.”

“But I won’t. Not yet.”

Hope flickered in (Y/N)’s eyes, small and careful.

“Why?” they asked.

Harcourt’s answer was blunt but honest:

“Because monsters don’t hesitate to kill.” She nodded toward (Y/N). “You hesitated. You chose differently. That matters.”

Thunder rolled outside.

Finally, she added quietly, “And because if there’s even one good vampire out there, I’d rather learn from them than put them down.”

(Y/N) exhaled, relief flickering across their features.

“Then what happens now?” they asked.

Harcourt turned toward the broken doorway, rain splashing at her boots.

“Now?” she said. “I keep an eye on you.”

She paused—just long enough for meaning to settle.

“Not as prey,” she added. “As… something else.”

Then she walked into the rain, expecting (Y/N) to follow.