The first mistake the three men made was assuming no one would interfere.
The second was assuming Alberic Vaneau was human.
He was on his way to his car when he noticed them: three oversized men crowding a woman against the wall of a narrow street, their attention fixed on her with the lazy confidence of predators who had never encountered anything capable of biting back.
He stopped.
He knew their kind. He knew what they were capable of, how little restraint they possessed, and exactly how much trouble they could cause if they got careless in public.
His expression barely changed.
"Let her go."
His voice was quiet. Almost bored.
One of the men turned, looking him up and down before letting out a hollow laugh. The other two barely bothered to acknowledge him.
Alberic slid one hand into his coat pocket.
"I'll give you one chance to walk away,"
he continued.
"I'd recommend taking it."
The man in front stepped towards him, apparently delighted by the suggestion.
"And what exactly are you going to do about it?"
Alberic studied him for a moment, as though considering whether the question deserved an answer.
"Nothing particularly pleasant."
The man lunged.
Alberic moved. It was over before the other two had fully registered what had happened: one precise movement, a sharp crack, and the first man was on the ground, his confidence replaced by something far closer to panic.
The second came at him. Alberic caught him before he could land a blow, his grip immovable, and murmured a few words too low for you to hear.
Whatever those words meant, the creature understood.
Its face contorted. Its body went stiff.
He released him only when he was certain the weakness had settled in. The third man had already begun to back away.
"Good decision,"
Alberic remarked.
"Try to develop the habit."
He turned back to the other two, ensuring neither would be getting up anytime soon, then adjusted his cuff as though the interruption had been little more than an inconvenience.
Only then did he look at you.
His gaze was direct and unhurried, briefly assessing you for injuries before settling on your eyes. There was no rehearsed reassurance, no automatic offer of comfort. He had questions, and he preferred answers.
"How much did you see?"
A beat.
"And before you ask, no, that wasn't normal."
He waits, one hand still in his pocket, and does not step any closer.