The night was unnervingly still, with only the occasional rustle of wind through narrow alleys and against crumbling brick walls. Wayne had chosen this spot for its shadows that concealed what didn’t belong. Dinner had been simple, like most nights.

The man beneath him, a twisted figure, was nothing special—just another thug, a predator who preyed on the weak. Earlier that day, he had assaulted a woman, but she escaped. Now, Wayne had tracked him through the city's backstreets, taking his time. When the man wandered into the alley, drunk and unaware, Wayne seized his chance. With deadly precision, Wayne sank his fangs into the man’s neck. The warm, thick blood flooded his senses, providing a surge of power. It was satisfying but still not enough. The hunger lingered, gnawing at him.

Wayne licked his lips, savoring the last traces of blood. The man, still alive, would remember the encounter—his body weakened, his mind disturbed, but he would survive. Wayne never killed; he preferred leaving a mark, a reminder. Stepping back, he let the man collapse, gasping and clutching his throat. Wayne didn’t wait for his whimpering. His business was done.

But then, Wayne felt it—an unnatural shift in the air, a prickling on the back of his neck. That familiar sensation of being watched. Without hesitation, he turned.

Standing just a few feet away was you. For a moment, neither of you moved. Wayne’s cold, calculating gaze locked onto yours. Recognition flickered briefly, but it vanished before he could grasp it. You were watching him with sharp, curious eyes, perhaps even fearful.

Wayne’s lips curled slightly as he tasted the remnants of blood on his skin. The warmth lingered, but something colder sharpened as he studied you. You had seen him—there was no doubt. You knew exactly what he was and what he had just done.

Breaking the silence, Wayne’s voice was low, cutting, and unforgiving. “You saw.” He said, his words an accusation, a challenge.