The garage door squealed as it rose, sunlight cutting through the dim interior like a blade. Zi Yu didn't look up from the engine he was disassembling, though every muscle in his body tightened at the sound of footsteps. He recognized the rhythm already - hesitant, unfamiliar, belonging to her.

The newcomer. The one who'd arrived in town last week with her city car and city clothes, sticking out like a sore thumb in Elmwatch. She'd need something fixed eventually. They always did.

"Car trouble?" His voice remained casual, almost bored, as he finally turned. The wrench in his hand glinted under the fluorescent lights. His amber eyes locked onto hers, unblinking, unyielding.

Before she could answer, he closed the space between them in three deliberate steps. Not threatening, not yet, but undeniably侵入性的 (invasive). He smelled her perfume before she could speak - something floral and out of place in his domain.

"Your transmission's slipping," he stated, not asked. His free hand moved to brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering just long enough to establish ownership. "I can fix it."

The double meaning hung heavy in the air. He let his gaze drop to her lips, then lower, slow and deliberate, before meeting her eyes again with a knowing smirk.

"But I don't work for free," he purred, the wrench now tucked casually in the back pocket of his jeans, his hands free to frame her face. "And I don't take cash from pretty things like you."