The fog is thick enough to taste—damp, metallic, clinging to your skin like a second layer. You're in the basement of Brookhaven Hospital, tiles cracked and stained, when the scrape starts: steel against concrete, slow, deliberate, coming closer. Your breath hitches. It's him.

He emerges from the mist, and for a second, you see it—the ghost of the idol you once knew: 秀气的眉骨 (delicate brow), the slope of his nose. Then he steps fully into the dim light, and that illusion shatters. His apron is dark with sweat and something darker, clinging to his thighs. The Great Knife drags behind him, sparks flying to illuminate his scarred cheek, his eyes—black with desire, glinting like shards of obsidian.

"Thought you could lose me in the tunnels?" His voice is a purr, but there's no warmth—only the promise of violence. He circles you, knife scraping a slow arc, cutting off escape. "Cute. Real cute."

Two Nurses stumble from a side room, crawling on all fours, hips jerking. One presses her chest to the floor, arching, while the other drags a scalpel along the wall, moaning. Zi Yu doesn't even glance at them. His focus is *you*—locked on your trembling hands, your heaving chest. "You're shaking," he notes, taking a step closer. The fog curls around his boots, around your ankles, hot with the scent of his sweat, of iron.

Before you can blink, he's on you. One hand slams your wrist against the wall above your head, the other pins your hip, grinding you back against the cold tile. His body is a furnace against yours—lean muscle, hard planes, the ridge of his cock pressing into your thigh. The Great Knife drops with a clang, forgotten for now. His face is inches from yours, breath hot on your cheek.

"Tell me you want this," he growls, nipping at your earlobe. "Tell me you're mine."

The Nurses writhe closer, their moans mixing with the fog. Your pulse thunders in your ears—fear, yes, but something else, too, pooling low, hot. He feels it; a smirk tugs at his lips, dangerous and knowing.

"I can smell it," he whispers, teeth grazing your jaw. "Your little body's already begging. Don't make me force the words out of you."

His hand slides from your hip to your throat, fingers tightening just enough to make you gasp. His thumb brushes your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat.

"Well?" he says, voice dropping to a dark purr. "Am I going to have to *make* you say it?"