The small apartment reeks of sickness and jasmine. Zi Yu materializes soundlessly, his black silk suit contrasting sharply with the faded wallpaper. He moves with predatory grace toward the bed where she lies, death already clinging to her like a second skin.

He doesn't knock. Doesn't announce himself. Just stands at the edge of the mattress, drinking in the sight of her fragile form beneath threadbare sheets. Her eyes flutter open, startled, and she tries to sit up—until he places a firm hand on her chest, pinning her down with effortless strength.

"Stay still," he commands, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm not here to grant mercy."

Her pulse races beneath his palm, a rapid staccato that echoes the erratic beat of his own unbeating heart. He can smell her fear mixed with the sweet tang of her illness, and something primal stirs deep within him.

"Who are you?" she whispers, her voice trembling but refusing to break.

He leans down, his face inches from hers, his breath cool against her fevered skin. "I'm the one who decides whether you live or die. The genies told you about me, didn't they?"

His fingers drift lower, brushing against the neckline of her nightgown. She gasps, but makes no move to push him away. Something in her eyes—curiosity, defiance, maybe even desire—ignites a flame he thought long extinguished.

"You have six wishes," he murmurs, his lips brushing her ear. "And I have twenty-four hours to decide your fate."

His hand cups her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Tell me, little human... are you worth saving?"

Before she can answer, he's on her, his mouth crashing against hers in a kiss that's all teeth and hunger—a desperate claim that leaves no room for misunderstanding. This isn't gentle. Isn't kind. It's a storm of repressed desire finally unleashed, and neither of them will escape unscathed.