Jian Yuche arrived for yet another visit three days later.
I was on the couch when the doorbell rang, my bandaged hand resting on my lap, a fresh bag of cheezies open beside me. The stitches pulled slightly when I moved, a dull reminder that I'd been careless.
Not that it mattered.
The wound would heal. Everything healed eventually.
Zhou Chenghai answered the door and I heard the low murmur of voices in the entryway, then footsteps approaching. Two sets—Chenghai's familiar stride and someone else's, measured and deliberate.
Jain Yuche appeared in the doorway.
He was alone this time. No team of guards fanning out to search the house. Just him, dressed in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, his expression calm and unreadable.
He looked at me. I looked back.
"Miss Shen," he said, his tone polite. Almost friendly.
I reached into the bag of cheezies and pulled one out, biting into it with a satisfying crunch. "Mr. Jian."
Chenghai moved to stand beside the couch, his arms crossed, his attention fixed on Yuche like he was waiting for him to make a wrong move.
A moment later, Zhenlan appeared from the hallway, his expression neutral but his posture tense. He took up position on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.
Neither of them said anything. They didn't have to. Their presence was statement enough.
Jian Yuche glanced between them, then back at me. "May I sit?"
I gestured toward the armchair across from the couch. "If you want."
He sat, settling into the chair with the kind of ease that suggested he was used to being in uncomfortable situations. His gaze drifted to the bag of cheezies beside me, then to my bandaged hand, then back to my face.
"You're injured," he said.
"I slipped."
"In the kitchen?"
"Is there somewhere else people usually slip?"
His mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but thought better of it. "I suppose not."
There was a beat of silence. On the television, the opening credits of some sci-fi movie were rolling—dark corridors, ominous music, the kind of setup that promised violence and bad decisions.
I had seen it before... Aliens, predators, humans caught in the middle. Everyone died except the ones who were smart enough to run.
I grabbed another cheezie.
Jian Yuche leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. "I wanted to talk to you."
"You are talking to me."
"I mean really talk. Not as an... investigator. Just... as someone trying to understand."
I tilted my head, studying him. This was new. The last time he'd been here, he'd been all business—cold, methodical, searching for evidence he wasn't going to find. Now he was sitting in my living room like we were old friends catching up over snacks.
Clearly the stick hadn't worked, so now he was trying the carrot.
It was almost amusing.
"Understand what?" I asked.
"You."
"I'm not that complicated."
"I think you are."
I popped another cheezie into my mouth and chewed slowly, letting the silence stretch. Yuche didn't look away. He just watched me, his expression thoughtful, like he was trying to solve a puzzle that didn't have all its pieces.
On the screen, the movie's protagonist was walking through a dimly lit corridor, her breath fogging in the cold air. Something skittered in the shadows. She turned, weapon raised.
"Bad idea," Chenghai muttered from beside the couch. "She should've stayed with the group."
"The group's already dead," I said. "She just doesn't know it yet."
"Still. Going off alone is stupid."
"Going off alone is the only reason she survives."
"She survives because the writers want her to survive. In real life, she'd be dead in the first ten minutes."
I glanced at him. "You're very pessimistic today."
"I'm realistic."
"That's the same thing."
Jain Yuche's gaze flicked between us, his expression unreadable. He reached toward the bag of cheezies on the couch, his hand moving casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I reacted before I thought about it.
The knife was in my hand instantly, the blade catching the light as I pressed it against his wrist. Not hard enough to cut, but firm enough to stop him. My grip was steady, my breathing even. The movement had been automatic—muscle memory from a life where hesitation meant death.
Jain Yuche froze, his eyes wide as he looked at me.
Chenghai chuckled, low and amused. "I'd pull that hand back if I were you. She doesn't share food."
Jian Yuche's gaze dropped to the knife, then lifted to my face. There was no fear in his expression. Just... curiosity. Like he'd just confirmed something he'd suspected.
"Noted," he said quietly.
I held his gaze for another beat, then withdrew the knife. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, slipping back into the space where I kept everything that mattered. Yuche pulled his hand back slowly, his movements deliberate, and settled into his chair again.
The tension in the room eased slightly. Not gone, but muted. Manageable.
Zhenlan moved from his position by the wall, crossing to the kitchen without a word. A moment later, he returned with a bowl of popcorn, a bag of gummy bears, and a bottle of water. He set them on the coffee table in front of me, his hand brushing against my shoulder briefly before he stepped back.
I glanced at him. He didn't look at me. He just returned to his spot by the wall, his expression neutral, like he hadn't just restocked my snack supply in the middle of a standoff.
Jian Yuche watched the exchange, his gaze sharp. "You're well taken care of."
"I am," I agreed, nodding my head as I reached for a gummy bear.
"That's... unusual."
"Is it?"
"Most people don't have a personal security detail that doubles as a snack service."
"Most people don't need one."
"And you do?"
I bit into the gummy bear and chewed slowly. "Apparently."
On the screen, the protagonist was running now, her footsteps echoing through the metal corridors. Something was chasing her—something fast, something deadly. She turned a corner and slammed into a door, her hands fumbling with the lock.
"She's not going to make it," I said.
"She will," Chenghai countered. "She always does."
"That's because it's a movie. In real life, she'd already be dead."
"You're very morbid."
"I'm practical."
Jian Yuche leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on me. "You don't seem worried."