Blood painted the alley walls tonight.
Lei Hu's breath came in ragged gasps as he stared at the empty dead-end. His pistol trembled in sweat-slicked fingers. "The fucker vanished!" he snarled, kicking over a reeking garbage bin. Rats scattered like shadows.
Impossible. They'd seen the herb bag's weight bend the bastard's shoulders. No man could scale two-meter walls with that load. Unless...
"Looking for someone?"
The voice came from behind. Close enough to feel breath on his neck.
Lei Hu spun, his combat-honed muscles moving before conscious thought. Yet even as his finger found the trigger, some primal instinct screamed: Too slow!
Ethan Cross stood bathed in the alley's jaundiced light, that damn herb bag still slung casually over one shoulder. His smile didn't reach his eyes - those were the flat, pitiless black of a shark's.
First Rule of Hunting: Prey that smiles is never prey.
Lei Hu's scar - that ugly ridge of flesh from cheek to jaw - throbbed with sudden memory. Last time he'd felt this cold dread was facing down a Jiangshi in the Crimson Mist Zone. His bladder nearly let loose then too.
"Pretty boy's got balls," Lei Hu forced through clenched teeth. The pistol steadied. "Shame we're gonna—"
SCHLICK!
Something warm sprayed across Lei Hu's face. He blinked through the crimson haze to see his right-hand man crumpling, hands clutching a throat that was now just a gaping second mouth. The left-hand enforcer stared dumbly at the glistening meat-tube in his hands - his own trachea.
When had the bastard moved?
Ethan stood between the collapsing bodies, fingers dripping. That smile never wavered. "You were saying?"
Lei Hu's finger convulsed on the trigger.
Click.
The firing pin struck empty air. Ethan's other hand held the magazine, extracted sometime between breaths.
"Goddamn it !" Lei Hu's curse died as Ethan's palm connected with his sternum. Ribs shattered like kindling. He hit the wall with enough force to taste brick dust and blood.
Second Rule of Hunting: Real predators don't growl.
Through swimming vision, Lei Hu saw Ethan methodically dismantle his men. No wasted motion. A finger's flick severed a carotid. A casual stomp collapsed a ribcage inward. The herb bag never even touched the ground.
"Friendly Negotiations"
Lei Hu awoke to four shattered limbs and a spine snapped in three places.
Ethan crouched beside him, still smiling. "You'll live. Mostly."
What followed wasn't interrogation.
It was unmaking.
By the end, Lei Hu begged for death—and babbled everything:
Kael's jealousy over Seraphina.
Tonight's gala at the Grand Aurora Hotel.
Most crucially: Kael never investigated Ethan's background.
Had he, he'd have recognized the name:
"Cross & Cleansing" wasn't just some shop.
Its founder—Lucian Cross—was the man who'd once slaughtered a Rule-Class Entity, the Bureau's highest threat classification, which had stumped the Supernatural Investigation Bureau. A legend among Beihai's elite.
And Ethan?
He was Lucian's heir.
Night's Embrace
Ethan stepped over Lei Hu's broken body.
Kael Stormcrest had chosen death the moment he sent thugs instead of an apology.
As streetlights flickered awake, Ethan melted into the shadows—heading straight for the gala.
Tonight, a different kind of predator would hunt.