At military headquarters, night does not mean rest.
Night means—files.
One screen lights up after another.
No names.
Only codes.
ENTITY: N–C
(Unofficial designation pending)
Someone says,
"The media came up with the name Night Collector."
Another replies calmly,
"When something has a name, people become afraid.
When there is fear, they ask the wrong questions."
The man at the head of the table closes the folder.
"We don't want the wrong questions.
We want the final question."
Red marks cover the map.
Not all from the same time.
Not even the same pattern.
"This isn't a serial killer," one analyst says.
"If it were, he'd return to habit.
This is… selection."
"Selection of whom?"
"Of those no one will miss."
No one in the room smiles.
A junior officer asks,
"Are we looking at ARC or the Cult?"
There is no immediate answer.
Then, a slow voice speaks—
"No.
They are noise.
We are searching for silence."
The screen changes.
Age graphs.
Anomalous data.
"Our assumption—
the target is aware.
Not immature.
But the age… is misleading."
Someone asks,
"What do you mean?"
"It means what he's doing—
he has forgotten his age.
Or he has been forced to forget it."
A new file opens.
Protocol: Glass Net
No direct confrontation
No cultivation detection
No public movement restriction
Only—
Reduce the lights
Lengthen the night
Keep people indoors
"He goes out at night," someone says.
"Then we'll turn the night itself against him."
Someone asks,
"What if he's caught?"
The answer is simple.
"He won't be caught.
He'll just stop."
A moment of silence.
Then an addition—
"And if he doesn't…
then we'll be certain—
he is no longer human."
Outside, the city looks the same.
But in some places, lights go out.
In some streets, roads are empty without reason.
Somewhere, police cars patrol without stopping.
Iren knows nothing of these plans.
But he feels it—tonight is different.
Tonight is… open.
And open spaces mean—
traps.