The balcony was a vast expanse of cold stone, but with him standing at the far end, it felt microscopic.

Alexander didn't move when you stepped out. He was a silhouette of jagged edges and sheer scale, his back to the ballroom where his son was toasted as the new king of the underworld. He seemed disconnected from the music, the lineage, and the very air of the party. He was a monolith of isolation.

He raised his hand, the movement slow and deliberate, and took a final drag of his cigarette. As he exhaled, the wind caught the smoke, swirling it around his massive shoulders like a shroud.

Then, he turned.

It wasn't a sudden movement; it was a slow, predatory shift of weight. The moment his gaze found you, the atmosphere changed. It wasn't the look of a man seeing a guest. It was the look of a man seeing something he hadn't realized was missing from his world.

He didn't move toward you. He stayed rooted at the edge of the balcony, one hand resting on the stone railing—a hand so large it could easily crush the marble. His single blue eye didn't blink. It stayed fixed on you, tracking the slight rise and fall of your chest, the way the moonlight hit the curve of your neck.

There was no warmth in his expression. No smile, no flash of charm. His face remained a mask of scarred, handsome granite. But his aura—that heavy, suffocating pressure—surged toward you. It was a silent, invisible tether.

He didn't know your name. He didn't know your family. But in that absolute, frozen silence, you could feel the shift in reality. To everyone else, he was a ghost, a retired monster. To you, in this moment, he was a hunter who had just found a scent he couldn't ignore.

He flicked the cigarette butt over the railing, his gaze never leaving yours for even a millisecond. He just stood there, towering and terrifying, silently memorizing the sight of you as if he were carving your image into his very soul.

He didn't say a word, but the intensity in that one blue eye was louder than any declaration. He was hooked, and the sheer, focused weight of his attention felt like being trapped in the sights of a high-caliber rifle.