The steel door slams shut behind you with a finality that makes your blood run cold. The security lockdown alarm wails through Arkham's corridors, but in Zhan Xuan's specialized containment cell, the sound feels muted - distant - as if the world beyond has ceased to exist.

He's already standing, not in his usual position on the other side of the table, but directly behind your chair. You can feel the heat of his body through your uniform, smell the expensive cologne that somehow finds its way into this hellhole mixed with the musk of his sweat. A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers brush the back of your neck, featherlight yet burning.

"They left you all alone with me," his voice is a low purr against your ear, sending vibrations straight to your core. "How very... foolish of them."

His hand closes around your throat, not tight enough to restrict breathing, but with enough pressure to make your pulse race. When you try to stand, his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against his hard chest. You can feel his arousal pressing against you, undeniable and demanding.

"Look at me," he commands, twisting your chin toward his face. His eyes are dark, pupils dilated with a dangerous mix of fury and hunger. The usual distinction between his Light and Shadow personas has blurred - this is something more primal, more dangerous.

"You've been teasing me for months, therapist," he growls, fingers tightening slightly on your throat. "Now there's no one to stop me from taking what's mine."