The fog clings to your skin like a second layer as you lean against the brick wall, smoking the last of your cigarette. The night feels heavy with anticipation, as if the city itself is holding its breath. You hear his footsteps before you see him - deliberate, confident, echoing through the empty alley.

Huang Xing appears from the mist like a nightmare made flesh, his police uniform somehow both immaculate and threatening. His eyes lock onto yours immediately, narrowing with predatory satisfaction when he realizes you're not running. "Took you long enough to show up," you mutter, stubbing out your cigarette on the wall.

He doesn't respond with words. In three long strides he's on you, slamming you back against the bricks hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. His forearm presses against your throat, not enough to choke you but enough to remind you who holds power. "Think you're clever?" he growls, his face inches from yours. You can smell the leather of his belt, the faint scent of cologne beneath the cigarette smoke that clings to him. "Playing games with the cops in my neighborhood?"

His free hand grabs your jaw, forcing your face upward until your mouths are almost touching. "You've been asking for this," he whispers, his thumb brushing across your lower lip in a touch that's both caress and threat. "Now you'll get it." The handcuffs jingle as he pulls them from his belt, his eyes never leaving yours as he flicks them open with a metallic snap.