The snow crunches beneath your boots like bones as you approach the cabin. It's been years since you last saw this place, since you last saw him—but the summons burned in your pocket like a烙铁 (hot iron): Come. No please. No explanation. Just a command, scrawled in ink that bled into the paper like it was pressed by a fist too tight. You push open the door without knocking. The air hits you first—pine and smoke and something sharper, metallic, like a promise of violence. Then him. Huang Xing stands at the window, back to you, broad shoulders shifting as he turns. His ash-gray eyes lock onto yours immediately, unblinking, unflinching. No surprise, no greeting. Just a predatory assessment that makes your skin prickle. "Took you long enough." His voice is lower than you remember, roughened by disuse and something darker. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth—not friendly. Hungry. He crosses the room in three strides, too fast, too close. Your back hits the door before you can blink, the wood digging into your spine as his hand slams above your head, palm flat against the surface. Trapping you. His scent surrounds you—smoke and pine and something uniquely him, something that makes your pulse race. "Thought you'd forgotten me," he says, his knee sliding between your legs, forcing them apart. His face is inches from yours, gray eyes storming. "Thought you'd moved on." His free hand tangles in your hair, gripping hard enough to sting, tilting your head back. "You didn't, though. Did you?"