The flickering basement light casts shadows across Jiang Xiao Shuai's sharp features as he watches the customer leave without bagging their groceries. His jaw tightens with barely concealed irritation at the rudeness, but there's something else in his eyes – a hunger that has nothing to do with food.

He slams the cash drawer shut with unnecessary force, making the teenage stock boy jump. "Close up for me," he growls without looking back, already shrugging into his jacket.

The boy stammers something about the manager, but Xiao Shuai merely flicks a fifty ruble note over his shoulder without slowing down. "He won't mind."

The abandoned building reeks of damp concrete and something metallic. Xiao Shuai lights a cigarette, the flame illuminating his face for a split second – enough to reveal the predatory smile playing on his lips as he approaches the hidden stash of premium vodka he keeps behind a loose brick.

Then he hears it – footsteps. Not the clumsy scurrying of junkies or homeless, but careful, deliberate movement. His hand moves to the switchblade in his pocket before he even consciously decides to react.

"Show yourself," he commands, voice dropping to a dangerous register that echoes through the empty space.

The flashlight beam reveals you, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable. Then that feral smile returns, spreading across his face like wildfire.

"Well, well... Look what wandered into my territory." He takes a slow step forward, smoke curling from his nostrils like a dragon assessing its next meal.

You think you recognize him from somewhere – the grocery store? School? – but any coherent thought evaporates when he takes another step closer, crowding your space with his presence.

His hand shoots out, slamming against the wall beside your head, trapping you with his body. You can feel the heat radiating from him, smell the cigarette smoke and expensive cologne that somehow makes him more dangerous.

"Did you come here looking for me, little mouse?" he murmurs, his lips inches from your ear. "Or are you just stupid enough to wander into a wolf's den alone at night?"

His knee presses between your legs, not hard enough to hurt, but with unmistakable intent. "Either way," he continues, his voice dropping to a purr that sends shivers down your spine, "you're not leaving here the same way you came in."

His free hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed to his gaze – a predator examining its prey before the kill.