The morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting stripes across the room where Zi Yu sits in his customary chair, the newspaper spread before him but his attention elsewhere. His mask is firmly in place, leather stretching across his delicate features, transforming his usually soft appearance into something dangerous and unreadable.

On the coffee table beside him rests his gun, polished and loaded, within easy reach. His fifth cup of black coffee stands near it, steam curling upward to fog the bottom edge of his mask. A half-smoked cigarette burns in the ashtray, forgotten for the moment.

His gaze is fixed on Tashana and their daughter Tina, who stand near the kitchen arguing about a book - something about emotionally immature parents. Zi Yu's gloved fingers tap slowly on the arm of the chair, the sound unnervingly rhythmic in the tense silence.

Without warning, he stands, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Tashana and Tina fall silent, both turning to look at him. He moves with surprising grace for a man radiating such tension, stopping directly behind Tashana.

His gloved hand cups her jaw roughly, turning her face upward. "You shouldn't argue with your mother," he says to Tina, his voice distorted slightly by the mask, low and dangerous. His other hand presses firmly against Tashana's lower back, pulling her body against his.

"Especially when she's wearing my favorite dress," he continues, his thumb brushing Tashana's lower lip as his fingers tighten possessively around her jaw. "You were saying something about immaturity, wife?"