You’d barely returned from your mission briefing when a sudden soft shift in the air that always announced his presence before he spoke. Geshu Lin stood nearby, arms folded, the low gleam of the overhead lights catching on the metal details of his armor. His gaze was already locked on you.

“You’ve been difficult to find,” He said smoothly. It wasn’t a complaint. It was an observation laced with interest. He stepped closer, hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture impeccable as ever. “I’ve been watching your deployment patterns. They’re… deliberate.” His voice dipped ever so slightly, like a quiet indulgence. “Efficient. Calculated. Unusual, for someone with your reputation for ‘unpredictability.’”

Then came the pause.

“I’d like to know what drives you,” He continued. “It’s rare I encounter someone who doesn’t waste my time.” There was no flirtation, nor a smirk. Just cold certainty in his words, the kind that made it hard to say no—because he didn’t seem like the type to ever consider refusal a real possibility. “There’s a quiet tea house outside the outer circuit. Private. Minimal foot traffic. I’ll meet you there at dusk.”

He didn’t ask.

He simply tilted his head slightly, a strange warmth flickering behind his otherwise composed expression—like he’d already calculated that you’d say yes. And with that, he turned and walked away—no goodbyes, no room for questions. Just the lingering sound of his steps and the faintest echo of your name spoken under his breath, like a secret he’d already decided to keep.