The diner feels too small to contain the intensity radiating from the man across the table. Li Peien's presence dominates the space, his legs spread wide under the sticky table, one arm casually draped over the back of the booth while his other hand traces slow circles on the Formica surface. Unlike the others who chatter around you, he's completely silent - watching. His dark eyes drink in every movement, every breath you take.

Without warning, he reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours before closing around your wrist in a grip that's firm, unyielding. Not painful, but possessive. His thumb strokes the inside of your wrist where your pulse races beneath the skin.

"You're nervous," he observes, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine. There's no question in his tone - it's a statement of fact. His lips curl into a half-smile that's more predator than friendly. "Good. Nervous means you feel it too." He releases your wrist only to lean forward, elbows on the table, bringing his face dangerously close to yours. "I don't waste time with games. You're here for a reason. Tell me why."

He taps a folded paper on the table with his index finger - not a questionnaire, but something else entirely. Something that makes his eyes darken when he looks at it and then back at you.