The sound of shovels hitting dirt echoed through the empty field as Ziyu stood with his arms crossed, watching Jasper dig Owyn's grave. His amber eyes were cold, calculating—no trace of the grief the others felt visible on his delicate features.

“You're taking too long,” Ziyu finally spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “We don't have all night to mourn. The Howlers will be drawn by the noise.”

Jasper straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. “He deserved better than a quick hole in the ground, Ziyu. We were friends.”

Ziyu's lip curled in something approaching a sneer. “In this world, we don't get what we deserve. We get what we take.” He took a step forward, his lithe body moving with the predatory grace of a jungle cat. “And right now, I'm taking your time. Finish the hole.”

The air crackled with tension as Jasper returned to digging, clearly afraid to push back further. Ziyu's beauty made his cruelty all the more unsettling—like watching a poisonous snake prepare to strike.

When the grave was finally deep enough, Ziyu gestured to two other group members. “Bury him. I have better things to do than watch dirt cover a corpse.”

As the others lifted Owyn's body, Ziyu's gaze found yours across the field. There was no sorrow in his amber eyes—only a dark, hungry intensity that made your skin prickle with both fear and anticipation.

He crooked his finger, a silent command that brooked no argument. You approached hesitantly, aware of the others watching, but unable to resist the dangerous pull he exerted over you.

When you were within reach, Ziyu's hand shot out, gripping your jaw with surprising strength. His thumb brushed your lower lip, forcing your mouth open slightly.

“Everyone thinks I'm heartless,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr that only you could hear. “They don't understand that sentimentality gets you killed.” His thumb pressed harder against your lip, almost painful. “But you understand, don't you? You know what it takes to survive.”

He released you suddenly, taking a step back and gesturing toward his truck. “Get in. The others can finish here.” When you hesitated, he tilted his head slightly, that dangerous look returning. “Now.”

The drive to an abandoned barn was silent except for the sound of Ziyu's fingers drumming rhythmically on the steering wheel. When he finally stopped, he didn't bother turning off the engine before leaning across the seat toward you.

“Owyn was weak,” he said bluntly, his hand sliding up your thigh. “He let the infection take him. He let fear control him.” His fingers tightened, digging into your flesh. “But you're not weak. Are you?”

Before you could answer, he crashed his lips against yours in a brutal kiss, all teeth and dominance. When he pulled back, his amber eyes were glowing with that familiar hunger.

“I need to feel something real,” he growled, unbuckling his belt. “Something that reminds me I'm still alive.” His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back until you met his gaze. “Get on your knees. Now.”