The thugs fled without a word. From a dark corner, a middle-aged man with a bruised, puffy face timidly peeked his head out.
"Thank you... thank you for your help," he stammered.
Derrick glanced at him, too bored to even offer a response. He turned his attention to the girl still curled into a ball on the pavement. "Can you stand up?"
Winter stared at the polished leather shoes in front of her, clenching her teeth in silence. When the middle-aged man saw Derrick paying attention to her, he stepped forward and kicked her leg aggressively.
"Are you deaf? Answer Mr. Kent!"
Derrick's brow furrowed. He was just about to raise his stick again when Winter suddenly lunged upward. With every ounce of her remaining strength, she began to strike the middle-aged man.
"Carson Hillman, are you even human?" she screamed, her voice cracking. "I'm your daughter! How could you do this to me?"
Carson recoiled, ducking his head to avoid her blows while cursing under his breath. "You're crazy! How dare you hit your own father!"
"Yes, I'm crazy! You're the one who drove me to it!"
Winter's eyes were bloodshot, her usual patient and gentle demeanor shattered. Derrick was stunned for a moment before he reached out and caught her, pinning her arms to her sides.
"Let me go, Derrick!" she sobbed, struggling against him.
She had come here tonight because Carson had called, claiming he was hurt and couldn't get home. She had come alone because she thought it was her duty as a daughter—only to find that he had traded her to thugs to settle a gambling debt. Twenty years of patience had finally evaporated.
Derrick didn't get angry at being yelled at. Instead, he smiled. He tightened his grip on her waist and asked casually, "Do you want me to kill him for you?"
Winter's lips trembled, but she couldn't find the words. Derrick raised an eyebrow, took off his heavy overcoat, and draped it over her trembling shoulders. He grabbed her wrist to lead her away, but after two steps, he paused and looked back at Carson.
"Don't let me see your face again," Derrick said, his voice dropping to a lethal chill. "Or I'll kill you myself."
Carson shrank back, nodding frantically. As a gambling addict who practically lived in the casinos, he knew exactly who Derrick Kent was. He wouldn't dare argue if his life depended on it.
The night wind was biting as they drove. This wasn't the first time Derrick had driven Winter home, but this time she wasn't cautious or afraid of him. She simply sat in the passenger seat, silent and still as a statue.
When they arrived at her old apartment complex, Winter opened the door. "Thank you. I'm borrowing your jacket; I'll return it later."
She didn't wait for a reply. She walked away without looking back, heading straight for a 24-hour convenience store to buy several cans of beer. She sat on a lonely bench in the courtyard, opened a can, and tilted her head back to drain it before throwing the empty tin to the ground.
The can rolled across the pavement and clinked against a familiar pair of leather shoes. Winter looked up to see Derrick standing there, a faint smile on his face. He sat down beside her, opened a beer of his own, and took a long drink.
"I haven't had one of these in a long time," he remarked. "The taste isn't bad."
Winter looked at him blankly, opening another can. "Why haven't you left yet?"
"I was worried the rabbit I rescued from the wolf's den would fall into a tiger's pit," Derrick replied elegantly. "So I came to keep watch."
Winter frowned. "Who's a rabbit?"
Derrick didn't look at her; he just gestured to his oversized coat hanging off her frame. "Guess."
Winter reflexively pulled the coat tighter around her torn shirt and drank in silence. Derrick didn't offer any empty comforts; he just sat there, sipping his beer and watching the night. They sat in that heavy silence until the first sob broke from her throat.
Winter looked up at the dark sky, shivering. "He didn't let me eat... he didn't let me study," she whispered, hugging her knees. "He just treated me like a bank, siphoning money from me as soon as I was old enough to work. I endured it because he's my father. But today... he tried to sell me."
The memory of the thugs' hands on her skin made her shudder with disgust.
Derrick leaned back, supporting his head with one hand as he watched the tears track down her face. "If you hate him that much, just kill him," he said nonchalantly. "The dead don't cause problems."
Winter turned to him, her eyes searching his. "Do you actually like killing people?"
Derrick chuckled. "I don't necessarily like it. They just don't seem to like living very much."
Winter shook her head with a bitter smile. "You know, maybe they do deserve to die. But it isn't worth ruining your own life to do it. People want to live better every day, not just give it all up for a piece of trash. If you kill them, your hands stay dirty forever."
The indifferent smile on Derrick's lips stiffened. For a fleeting second, a ghost of a memory echoed in his ears:
(Dad, I don't want to die!)
(If you're as weak as this, why live? I don't have a child like you!)
Pop! Winter opened another beer. "I hate him," she said, her voice filled with a sudden, fierce resolve. "But I have to live. I have to live so well that it makes him die of envy."
She let out a small, drunken laugh. Derrick looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time. He had always seen her as weak, but there was a terrifying strength in her will to survive.
"Is it all just because you want to live?" Derrick wondered aloud, unconsciously draining several more cans himself.
Eventually, the adrenaline and the alcohol caught up with Winter. She slumped over, falling fast asleep against the back of the bench. Derrick sat there in a daze, looking at her.
"Idiot. Are you drunk already?"
He reached out and poked her cheek. She just smacked her lips and stayed asleep. Derrick chuckled, reaching out to pat her head gently.
"How can you be so innocent, falling asleep out in the open like this?"
As the New Year's Eve sun began to peek over the horizon, the city was a tapestry of different lives: some were waking up to joy, some to regret, and some—like the wolf and the rabbit—were finding a strange, quiet light in the middle of the dark.