The resolve I'd made in the car – to protect her, to uncover the truth alongside her – solidified with the dawn. Sleep had remained elusive, my mind replaying the night's disturbing discoveries and the jarring intimacy of her desperate kiss. No more lies, I'd demanded, and in return, she'd given me the truth, however fragmented. Now, it was my turn.
Investigating Father Donnie was straightforward, a task my abilities made simple, almost too simple. While the human world slept, I moved, a shadow among shadows, through the Church's school, accessing offices and archives with silent precision. Their security systems were laughably rudimentary to my kind. I sifted through files, account books, and digital records, searching for discrepancies, for anything that didn't align with the pious façade.
The rot was deeper, and more mundane, than the hidden brothel. Father Donnie, the man in charge of the school, a figure of respect and authority, was a common thief. The school, funded by numerous donations and sponsorships, was bleeding money. I poured over the account books, my enhanced focus picking out the subtle inconsistencies, the mismatched figures, the outright missing funds. Most of the calculations were wrong, deliberately so. He wasn't just frequenting brothels; he was systematically embezzling school funds.
My investigation extended beyond the books. I tracked his movements, observing his nightly routine. He wasn't just attending secret rendezvous; he was a regular at a gambling house, squandering the children's future on the turn of a card, the roll of a dice. His lifestyle, too, spoke volumes – a lavish house filled with expensive antiques, likely bought from auctions and shady underground deals. He lived a life of obscene luxury, funded by the very donations meant for education and care.
Two days later, the report was complete, meticulously detailed. My patience was thin, eager to share the damning evidence. I found her in our usual spot in the library, hunched over a book, the morning light catching the dust motes dancing around her. Her face was still, contemplative. She looked up as I approached, a flicker of apprehension in her eyes, mixed with something else – anticipation, perhaps.
"I went to investigate at the school and looked through his files and records," I began, my voice low, for her ears only. "You're right, something is going on at the school, but it's not connected to the orphanage."
Her brow furrowed. "What is it?"
I laid out the facts, cold and hard. "The school receives numerous donations and sponsorships, right? I read the account books and most of the calculations were wrong. Father Donnie has been pocketing some of the school funds. What's worse is he goes to a gambling house every day, so we know where some of the money goes. And he lives a life of luxury. His house is full of antiques which were probably bought from auctions and underground deals."
Her eyes widened, a slow horror dawning. "What? But, that money, it's for the children. How can he do that?" Her voice was a pained whisper, thick with outrage. She clenched her fists, her knuckles white. "Unbelievable."
Then, a deeper, more chilling fear crept into her eyes. "My father, do you think he knows? Do you think the Church knows?" Tears welled, spilling down her cheeks unbidden. She was getting drowned in different emotions – fury, disgust, but most profoundly, betrayal. She was about to lose her mind.
Watching her unravel, the raw vulnerability laid bare, something inside me shifted. My logical, detached composure cracked. Without conscious thought, I moved, pulling her into my arms. Her body was warm against mine, trembling. I wrapped her in the strange, cool embrace of my vampiric form. It felt odd, yet profoundly right. "It's going to be alright," I murmured, my voice deep, a soothing rumble against her ear, repeating the words until her trembling began to subside.
My arms loosened around her, and I gently pulled back, cupping her face with both hands. Her eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, met mine. This was it. This was the moment I committed fully, not just to the mission, but to her. "Don't worry," I said, my gaze holding hers. "I'll help you find out what's going on in the orphanage. I won't let you do this alone."
Then, compelled by a force stronger than reason or law, I leaned in. Her eyes fluttered closed as my lips found hers. This kiss was different. Not born of panic or concealment, but of choice. A silent promise, a forging of a dangerous partnership, sealed not by words, but by the undeniable, growing connection that defied my very nature. It was a declaration.