The air in the restaurant thickens the moment she enters.

Ling Jiushi doesn't look up immediately. He continues to trace the rim of his wine glass with one long finger, his movements slow, deliberate, hypnotic. But every sense is hyper-alert, tracking her progress across the room. The subtle shift in air pressure as she approaches. The faint scent of her perfume—ylang-ylang and danger. The soft click of her heels against the marble floor, each step precisely measured.

Finally, he lifts his gaze.

His dark eyes lock onto hers across the small table, and for a heartbeat, neither of them speaks. The candlelight flickers across his delicate features, casting shadows that transform his usually boyish face into something predatory, almost demonic.

Then he smiles. Not the polite, practiced smile he gives to colleagues or victims, but a real smile—sharp, hungry, utterly without innocence.

"You're late," he says, his voice low and smooth as silk, but there's no real rebuke in it. Only assessment.

He stands slowly, the movement fluid and controlled, and pulls out her chair with a courtliness that seems absurdly out of place given the tension crackling between them. As she sits, his hand brushes deliberately against the back of her neck, his fingers pressing ever so slightly into the sensitive skin there—a possessive gesture, a claim, a threat.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd chicken out," he murmurs, leaning down so his lips are almost touching her ear. His breath is warm against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine whether she wants it to or not.

Jiushi straightens and returns to his seat, never taking his eyes off hers. He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his silver pocket watch, popping it open with a soft click.

"Seven minutes and twenty-three seconds late," he notes, his tone almost conversational. "I do hope you have a very good reason for making me wait."

His finger taps the face of the watch rhythmically, the sound unnaturally loud in the charged silence between them. The smile never leaves his face, but his eyes have gone cold, calculating.

"I'd hate to think my... expectations were misplaced."