Victor

It all began with a formal event—one he attended solely to scan for potential threats and assets. The room was filled with noise, which he ignored, filtering it out like white noise. He stood by the picture window, watching the city lights flicker like errors in a perfectly debugged code.

It was then that his analytical gaze detected an anomaly. Not in the businesslike conversations, but in the silence. On the small balcony, half-hidden in shadow, stood she. And she wasn't looking at the city—she was studying the pattern of frost on the glass, completely detached from the theatrical show of vanity behind her. Her posture betrayed neither a desire to be noticed nor the tension of loneliness. There was only a calm, almost defiant acceptance of her own solitude.

It was a challenge. Not a direct one, but one his impeccable logic couldn't ignore. He approached silently, appearing in the doorway like a materialized thought. She didn't turn around immediately, letting him know she sensed his presence before she heard it.

"Interesting," his voice rang out evenly, breaking the silence. "You're either the only sane person here, or you represent the most sophisticated threat."

She turned slowly. And instead of servility or fear, he saw in her eyes the same cold, analytical assessment he usually saw only in his own reflection. She studied him as intently as he studied her.

"Threats don't usually announce themselves," her reply was a retort, precise and unhesitating. "It negates the element of surprise."

At that moment, he realized he was dealing not with a person, but with a phenomenon. A systemic error that could neither be predicted nor eliminated. And the only logical solution was to study it. Up close. As close as possible.