Vincent appeared to be an easygoing person, but in reality, his heart was always closed off. Becoming his friend was not easy, and becoming someone he was willing to sacrifice for was even harder. As for Christine, it wasn't that Vincent lacked compassion, but he remained unmoved.

  Andrew was tall and strong, physically superior to Vincent in more ways than one. Regarding weapons, Andrew had a gun, while Vincent had a scalpel, though it was hidden in the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Vincent only had one chance to strike. If he couldn't kill Andrew instantly, Andrew would surely shoot him.

  So Vincent didn't act impulsively, perhaps because Christine was just a beautiful stranger, not worth the risk.

  Sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, Vincent watched as Andrew slowly dragged Christine into the lounge, lowering his head in silence.

  "Let me go, please, don't do this..."

  In the cramped bathroom, under the dim yellow light, the mirror reflected a graceful figure. When she heard the commotion outside, Manuela had already cleaned herself and was wearing underwear.

  Manuela quickly dressed, not even bothering with shoes, and ran her fingers through her wet hair before pushing the door open and stepping out.

  "Please, don't do this, don't..." Christine was crying, shaking her head and pleading with Andrew.

  "Damn it, come with me. If you make me unhappy, I'll shoot you," Andrew growled, pulling Christine toward the lounge. A strong man dragging a beautiful girl into a lounge against her will—it didn't take much imagination to figure out what he intended to do.

  Andrew didn't seem like a good person even before the apocalypse, and now, with the collapse of law and morality, his darker side had fully emerged.

  Manuela leaned against the bathroom door, her eyes quickly scanning the others in the living room. Old Mike and his wife sat on the sofa, holding each other tightly. Jason stood by the window, watching everything unfold. He seemed like he wanted to say or do something, but he didn't.

  Manuela's gaze finally settled on Vincent. His demeanor immediately sparked anger in her. Vincent was sitting with his head down, examining his nails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

  Manuela didn't know why she was so angry. Perhaps she believed Vincent could stop what was happening, but he acted as if he hadn't seen anything, as if it were none of his business.

  Christine was still crying and struggling. Manuela suddenly took a deep breath, unbuttoned two buttons on her blouse.

  Barefoot, Manuela walked over to Andrew and grabbed his arm. Andrew instinctively raised his hand to strike, but when he felt the softness against his arm, he stopped and turned to look.

  "Hey," Manuela whispered seductively, her lips pouting, her long lashes fluttering as she gazed at Andrew.

  "Hey," Andrew replied, slightly dazed as he turned to look at her.

  "She's just a little girl, she doesn't understand anything. How about..." Manuela pressed her body against Andrew, her long, slender leg in tight shorts rubbing against his. Her right hand rested on his shoulder, while her left gently caressed his chest. Her voice was soft, dripping with allure. "How about I keep you company?"

  Everyone in the room, including Vincent, turned to look at Manuela.

  "Alright, come with me," Andrew, completely captivated by Manuela's deliberate seduction, released Christine and grabbed Manuela's hand, which was still caressing his chest. He kept his eyes on her face as he led her into the lounge.

  Vincent watched expressionlessly as Manuela willingly followed Andrew into the lounge. Before the door closed, Manuela glanced back at Vincent, giving him a look of disdain before turning to Andrew with a sweet smile. The door shut.

  Jason, who had been standing by the window, immediately rushed to the sofa, vaulting over the back and landing lightly beside Christine.

  "Christine, are you okay?" Jason asked, tilting his head to look at her. Christine was still wiping her tears, her head turned toward the lounge door, silent.

  "Child... we..." Old Mike wanted to say something to Christine, but Laura tugged at him, signaling him to stop. Old Mike sighed and said no more. Explanations were futile. They hadn't dared to help Christine earlier, and now there was nothing they could say.

  Everyone else had tried to comfort Christine, except for Vincent. His behavior seemed strange to the others. If his indifference to Christine's plight could be explained by his unwillingness to risk himself for a stranger, then his lack of reaction to Manuela's seduction of Andrew was harder to justify. After all, the two had arrived together, and their relationship, if not romantic, was at least close—likely even romantic.

  Jason, Old Mike, and Laura had all glanced at Vincent but quickly looked away. Vincent remained calm, leaving them unsure whether to approach him. They couldn't just walk up and say, "Hey, man, your girl's about to sleep with someone. What do you think?"

  In truth, Vincent's emotions were tangled. He was struggling with the realization that he had misjudged Manuela. He never expected her to willingly sacrifice herself to help Christine, and that was what troubled him.

  Faint, suppressed moans began to emanate from the lounge, followed by Andrew's muffled voice. It was unclear what he was saying, but soon Manuela's moans grew louder. The lounge's poor soundproofing made everything audible.

  Vincent's thoughts were complex. He suddenly tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling.

  Was Manuela sacrificing herself for a greater good? But how long could she protect Christine? Thinking this, Vincent smiled self-deprecatingly. He had done nothing, so what right did he have to judge her?

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  The sounds from the lounge ceased after about ten minutes. It seemed Andrew's prowess didn't match his physique. A couple of minutes later, Manuela emerged, buttoning her blouse, her hair disheveled, her face still flushed.

  After closing the lounge door, Manuela walked over to Christine and sat on the other side of the sofa. Jason quickly moved aside.

  "Are you okay?" Manuela asked, buttoning her blouse and tucking her hair behind her ear as she looked at Christine, who was still hanging her head.

  "Thank you," Christine suddenly hugged Manuela's waist, crying softly.

  "It's okay, it'll pass. Everything will be fine," Manuela patted Christine's back, comforting her in a low voice, even kissing her hair.

  Vincent remained seated in the corner, watching Manuela. After comforting Christine for a while, Manuela suddenly turned to look at Vincent. Their eyes met, and Manuela gave him another look of disdain.

  "Alright, be strong," Manuela said, gripping Christine's shoulders and looking into her eyes. "Stop crying, okay?"

  Christine nodded. Manuela ruffled Christine's hair and stood up, walking to the corner of the living room. She sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees.

  She sat right next to Vincent's chair but didn't look at him.

  Vincent didn't know what to say. Though they were close, the atmosphere was awkward.

  "Not a man."

  After a while, Manuela suddenly spoke, tilting her head slightly to glance at Vincent sitting in the chair.

  Vincent had no retort. He smiled self-deprecatingly and looked at Manuela, asking softly, "Why did you help her?"

  "She's just a child. She saved us!" Manuela stared into Vincent's eyes. Vincent let out a soft "oh," his gaze drifting away as he lost himself in thought.

  Manuela continued to watch Vincent. After a long while, she suddenly lowered her head and said, "Do you know why I did that?"

  "Life forced you, right?" Vincent guessed with a sigh.

  Manuela was silent for a moment, then turned to look out the window. In a low voice, she said, "My mother died when I was twelve. She was a drug addict. I never found my biological father. After that, my stepfather raised me. On my sixteenth birthday, he drank a lot and said I was finally grown up... then he raped me. He started forcing me to take clients to pay off his gambling debts..." This was the real reason she was willing to save Christine. She had been sixteen when it happened, and now Christine was sixteen. The tragedy that had befallen her seemed about to repeat itself with Christine. It was a difficult story to tell, but Manuela didn't know what had come over her. Some strange impulse made her share it with Vincent.

  "Your... stepfather, where is he now?" Vincent didn't want Manuela to continue, interrupting her.

  "He's dead. Not long after that, he was killed over gambling debts," Manuela said gloomily. She suddenly stood up, walked through the living room, and entered the lounge. It was unclear what she said inside, but she soon emerged, holding a cigarette and a lighter.

  Barefoot, she walked back to Vincent and sat down beside him. She tore open the cigarette pack, took one out, and lit it. Then she tossed the pack and lighter at Vincent's feet. Vincent glanced at them but didn't move.

  "Do you always think I'm cheap, shameless?" Manuela leaned against the wall, took a deep drag, and exhaled a plume of smoke, tilting her head to look at Vincent.

  "No, you're kind," Vincent denied.

  Manuela chuckled, took another drag, and flicked the ash. She shook her head, clearly not believing him.

  Vincent didn't want to explain further. He suddenly glanced toward the lounge's closed door and asked, "What's he doing? Sleeping?"

  Manuela followed his gaze and said softly, "He's using drugs."

  "Oh?" Vincent's expression shifted slightly. Drugs were the cheapest and most widespread substances in the world. Humans had been using them for over a thousand years. Drug use caused hallucinations, confusion, paranoia, and impaired self-awareness. In short, people became disoriented after using drugs.

  "Right. He even offered me some, but I've quit," Manuela said, smoking, her eyes slightly distant, as if remembering something.

  "Did he start using right after you finished, or did he start when you went in to get the cigarettes?" Vincent suddenly had more questions. He glanced at his watch; it was 8:47 AM.

  Manuela gave Vincent a strange look, unsure why he was asking, but she answered anyway, "He started right after we finished."

  "Ah," Vincent nodded, his mind working. He stood up and headed to the bathroom. The effects of the drugs usually kicked in after about thirty minutes, and only about ten minutes had passed in the bathroom.

  Vincent looked at himself in the mirror, slowly forming a friendly smile. The smile faded as he took off his bloodstained jacket. He picked up a towel by the sink, wiped the jacket clean, and pulled out a small cloth bundle from inside. He hung the jacket on a hook on the wall.

  Vincent's inner shirt was clean—a long-sleeved T-shirt. He unfolded the cloth bundle, revealing a scalpel with a blade and handle totaling fifteen centimeters. He slipped it into his sleeve and adjusted it.

  He checked his watch again: 8:58. Vincent took a deep breath, looked at the mirror, and smiled again, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth.