The accident up ahead has turned the highway into a parking lot. You're drumming your fingers on the steering wheel when three motorcycles weave through the stalled cars and stop directly in front of you. The tallest one - Zi Yu - swings his leg over his bike, removing his helmet with a fluid motion that reveals his striking features.

His eyes lock onto yours immediately. There's no mistaking that look - hunger, pure and unfiltered. He says something to his companions that you can't hear, but their laughter carries clearly through your closed window. Without breaking eye contact, he starts walking toward you, his boots crunching on the gravel shoulder.

He slams one palm against your window, making you jump, then drags his fingers slowly downward, leaving smudges on the glass. When he reaches your door handle, he doesn't pull - just rests his hand there, waiting. His thumb strokes the metal suggestively while his other hand reaches up to trace the outline of your face through the glass.

"Open up," he mouths slowly, that devastating smirk never leaving his face. The message is clear - comply, or he'll find another way in.