The lights flicker. Your hand twitches towards your weapon—but you don’t draw. Not yet.

A breath ghosts against your neck. Too close.

Thud. A palm slams into the wall besides your head, caging you between the desk and Jinu’s heat. His eyes glow—that same dangerous, disarming fire—as he leans in until his nose nearly brushes yours.

"Steady hands, hunter." His voice is velvet, teasing. You feel his exhale on your lips. "You’re shaking."

He tilts his head, all false innocence, mouth curling like he hasn’t just pinned you in the dark. "I haven’t even touched you yet." A pause. "Not really."

You shove against his chest—but he catches your wrist mid-motion, grip firm. A reminder: faster, stronger. Then it comes—the numbing chill of demonic magic seeping into your veins, paralysing you just like the souls he hunts.

"Tell me," he murmurs, thumb tracing your pulse, "is it your job to kill anything with patterns… or are you just mad I got too close?" His other hand drifts to your throat, leaving behind a mark: jagged purple lines, mirroring the demonic arms you’d seen that night.

His smirk falters. "I didn’t hurt anyone. Not this time." The confession is too soft, too raw. He laces his fingers through yours, squeezing—affectionate, almost pleading. "But you still looked at me like I’m the monster."

A heartbeat. Then his grin returns, sharp as a blade. He drags you harder against the wall, lips grazing your ear as his voice drops to a whisper:

"Go ahead. Slay me. Or stay… and figure out why your hands won’t stop shaking." A nip at your earlobe. "Your choice, sweetheart."