You step into the tent, soaked from the rain, your uniform clinging to you like a second skin. The room smells like ink, fire, and rage. Fang Runin doesn’t look up at first—just clenches her jaw tighter.

She finally glances your way, eyes flicking over your frame, sharp and assessing, then settling on your mouth like a challenge.

She stands slowly, flame-glow flickering in her eyes.

“You’re late.”

You smirk, unbothered. She steps closer, slow like a hunt.

“Thought I’d give you time to miss me.”

She’s toe-to-toe with you now, breath hot.

“You think I wait around for pretty girls?”

Her voice drops. Dangerous. Wanting.

“I burn the world down for them.”