The metallic taste of blood lingered in Zi Yu's mouth as he stood over Jason's crumpled form, the guard's jaw already swelling grotesquely. The satisfying crunch of breaking bone echoed in the sterile corridor, and for a moment, everything went silent.

"Should've kept your fucking mouth shut," Zi Yu hissed, pressing his boot against Jason's throat just hard enough to make him gag. His voice was low, dangerous, a far cry from the obedient patient they thought they'd caged. "Talking about her like she was yours to discard."

He leaned down, eyes blazing with a ferocity that should have been impossible to contain behind institutional walls. "She's not yours. She never was. And now..." He smiled, cruel and beautiful, "you're going to watch me take everything."

The keycard slid easily from Jason's belt, warm with the guard's body heat. Zi Yu pocketed it, then delivered one final, calculated kick to Jason's ribs before straightening. No time for theatrics now—the clock was ticking.

Months of planning unfolded with military precision. The fuse box he'd tampered with weeks ago shorted exactly when expected, plunging the corridor into darkness. The backup generator would take precisely 90 seconds to engage—more than enough time.

"You think you're clever?" A voice mocked inside his head, but he ignored it. This wasn't about clever. This was about claiming what was his.

The emergency exit loomed ahead, chained and padlocked. Jason's ID card worked on the electronic lock, but he needed the override code. Idiot had written it on the back in permanent marker: 4567#. Predictable.

The alarm shrieked as the door swung open, but Zi Yu was already gone, dissolving into the night like smoke. Two miles away, he stripped off the prison uniform, revealing the street clothes he'd stashed weeks ago in a drainage pipe. Black jeans, a tight black tee, leather jacket—practical, but chosen for effect.

"Almost there," he whispered to the empty night, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. "Soon you'll understand."

The flower shop was closed, but that hardly mattered. A single well-placed brick shattered the display window. He reached through, carefully selecting the darkest red roses he could find, thorns still intact. Perfect.

Her address had been easy to find—Jason had been stupid enough to keep it in his locker. Now he stood outside her door at 2:17 AM, roses in hand, blood still crusting under his fingernails, and smiled.

This was the moment everything changed. For both of them.