The precinct door slams open, drawing every eye. Zi Yu saunters in cuffed, escorted by two uniformed officers—though he walks like he's leading them, not the other way around. His white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a glimpse of the tattoo curling up his neck. One sleeve is torn, showing fresh bruises blooming on his forearm.

He spots you instantly. His lips curl into a predatory smile that sends a shiver down your spine despite yourself. When the officers try to guide him to the booking desk, he yanks free with surprising strength.

"I want Officer Rivera," he announces loudly, gaze locked on yours across the room. "Tell her her favorite troublemaker's back."

The sergeant sighs. "Already handled, Yu. She's taking your statement."

When he reaches your desk, he slams your paperwork with both palms, leaning across until his face is inches from yours. The scent of his cologne—dark, spicy, clinging to his skin—mixes with the faint metallic tang of blood. His cuffed wrists brush your forearm deliberately.

"Missed me, Officer?" His voice drops to a gravelly whisper only you can hear. "Or were you too busy playing by the rules without me?"

You reach for the forms, but he catches your wrist in his cuffed hands, squeezing just hard enough to leave a mark.

"Sign here," you manage, ignoring the heat spreading through you.

He studies your face like he's memorizing every flicker of emotion. "Make me."

The precinct buzzes around you, but time seems to slow. You can feel every officer's eyes on the two of you—this dangerous dance you've performed too many times before. When he finally releases you, his fingers trail deliberately up your arm, leaving fire in their wake.

"I'm not here to play nice, little officer," he murmurs, signing the form with a flourish. "And neither are you. Not with me."