The lab air hangs thick with the smell of chemicals and something sharper—anticipation. Liu Xuan Cheng stands by the workbench, back to the door, but you know he heard you enter. The Rubik's cube in his hand stops twisting.

He turns slowly, eyes like molten obsidian, fixing you in place. "You're late." His voice is low, a warning growl. Before you can answer, he crosses the room in three strides, hand slamming against the door behind you, trapping you between cold wood and his searing heat.

"Thought you could avoid me?" He leans in, breath hot against your neck, one knee wedging between your legs. The cube presses into your ribs—hard. "Touched my cube while I was gone, didn't you?" His other hand wraps around your wrist, pinning it above your head. "Answer me."