Somewhere in Long Island City, NYC

  Night draped itself over the city like a heavy velvet curtain, swallowing the last traces of daylight and cloaking the streets in deep, shifting shadows. Neon signs flickered to life, their colours reflecting off rain-slicked footpaths, as people slipped through the gloom—finishing up their day’s work and merging with the restless current of the evening crowd. Every footstep echoed a little louder, every conversation felt slightly hushed, lending the whole scene an electric, secretive edge.

  The club sat three levels underground, sealed away from daylight and consequence. Its entrance was little more than an unmarked door wedged between an abandoned shopfront and a kebab shop still doing a brisk trade. Descending the narrow staircase, the world above faded with every step. Below, the club opened up in a warren of concrete and steel: low ceilings veiled in shifting fog, threads of coloured light chasing each other along the walls. Bass rolled through the space in heavy, pulsing waves, vibrating through the floor and up into the bones. Here, everything was an exchange—attention for money, bodies for distraction, silence for survival. In this subterranean world, the outside vanished, replaced by music, shadows, and the hush of secrets waiting to be traded.

  At the far end of the bar, a blond figure stood apart from the crowd.

  Serena noticed her immediately.

  Not because she was loud, or smiling, or working the floor—but because she wasn’t doing any of that. She stood still, posture immaculate, letting the room arrange itself around her. A sleeveless robe draped from narrow shoulders, open down the spine and split high along one leg, revealing polished boots and the sculpted length of her thigh.

  It was too deliberate to be accidental.

  Provocative in a way that suggested intent rather than taste.

  Straight pale-gold hair fell unbound down her back, heavy rather than soft, catching flashes of neon in sharp strands. Her build was tall and narrow, all long lines and clean angles, beautiful in a way that felt sculpted rather than inviting.

  People noticed. Then looked away.

  Serena leaned against the bar, watching the way men’s attention slid past her and stalled on that bare spine, that exposed leg, the calm certainty of someone who didn’t need to move to be seen.

  Her jaw tightened.

  Competition.

  Freelancers showed up like this sometimes—people who dressed to pull attention first and explain themselves later. The ones who didn’t look hungry. The ones who didn’t need to hustle because the room did the work for them.

  Serena straightened her dress and pushed off the counter.

  “Hey,” she said when she reached her, smile sharp and professional. “You new here?”

  The blond woman turned slowly.

  Up close, the effect sharpened rather than softened. Her features were narrow and precise—too sharp to be gentle, lashes casting shadows against pale skin. Her gaze settled on Serena without sliding, without appraisal.

  “You don’t want to approach me,” the blonde said, her voice low and flat, not inviting. Serena hesitated, thrown by the chill.

  “If you’re working,” Serena said, irritation bleeding through, “you need to clear it with management. This isn’t a free-for-all.”

  “I’m not working,” the woman replied calmly.

  Serena looked her over again—the bare back, the high split, the boots that belonged on a stage or a battlefield, not a bar.

  “Then why are you dressed like that?”

  The woman considered the question seriously.

  “Because it is effective.”

  That wasn’t the answer Serena had expected.

  “Effective how?”

  “For discouraging the kind of attention I don’t want.”

  That made no sense at all.

  “Right,” Serena said dryly. “One of those.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Sit,” the woman said.

  Not a command. An invitation.

  “I can buy you a drink.”

  Against her better judgment, Serena did.

  Up close, something felt wrong—not threatening, just… misaligned. The woman wasn’t scanning her body. Wasn’t measuring. Her attention rested on Serena’s face with a steady curiosity that didn’t make her feel cheap the way it usually did.

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  She met Serena’s eyes.

  “I’m Shi,” she said. Then, as if afterthought mattered, she added, “And for the record, I’m not a woman—if that helps.”

  The words landed cleanly.

  Serena blinked. Once. Twice.

  “Oh.”

  Heat crept up her neck as the picture she’d built in her head collapsed and rearranged itself.

  Just because he identified differently didn’t mean he wasn’t still standing here pulling eyes that should have been on her.

  “So,” Serena said, recovering quickly. “You here to make a statement, or steal business?”

  “Neither,” Shi replied. “I am having a drink by myself.”

  She snorted. “Sure.”

  After a few seconds, he added, “Why are you here?”

  Her spine stiffened.

  “Well, isn’t this obvious?”

  “I’m not insightful enough to know why.”

  Silence stretched—tense, uncomfortable.

  “I am a sex worker, you happy? ” The words came out sharp, a challenge.

  Shi didn’t flinch. “And?”

  “And you are here taking my clients and affecting my income.” Serena exhaled. “The men haven’t even noticed me since you are here.”

  “Oh, “ Shi’s face showed generous surprise as if it never crossed his mind.

  “I’m sorry about interfering with your business.”

  Serena stared, caught off guard by the sincerity. She’d expected defensiveness, not this.

  A drink appeared in front of Serena, as promised. The blonde guy pointed at it, gesturing her to take it.

  “No, that’s OK.” Serena took the drink, couldn’t quite pinpoint why she felt so self-conscious for assuming this oddly dressed person was just like her.”

  Well, at least he was not unpleasant to talk to for a change.

  The blonde watched her sip her drink, hesitation flickering across his face.

  “I believe I should leave,” he said quietly. “I don’t appear to be welcome.”

  “No please, it’s me. I am stupid, thought you were one of us.” Serena quickly replied, trying to smooth it over, “Sorry, I have been struggling lately. The business hasn’t been good enough to pay my tuition.”

  “You study?” Shi asked, somehow curious bleed through his voice.

  “Yes, medicine actually.” Serena said, eyes momentarily bright with pride, and then, as if something hit her inside, the light in her eyes dimmed as she looked away at her glass.

  That made the blonde man still.

  “You study medicine,” Shi said.

  Her head snapped up. “Past tense.”

  “What interested you?”

  She hesitated, suspicion flickering. “Emergency. Trauma. Fast decisions.”

  Shi nodded once. “Efficient. Human medicine excels at that.”

  She frowned. “You talk like you’ve studied it.”

  “I have studied medicine,” he said. “Human medicine is… creatively brutal.”

  That pulled a reluctant laugh from her. “That’s one way to put it.”

  They circled each other after that—hostile curiosity easing into reluctant respect. She challenged him. He challenged her back. He asked questions that were too precise to be fake. She corrected him sharply, then realized he listened—actually listened.

  “This is weird,” she said finally. “You don’t sound like a tourist.”

  “I am not,” Shi replied. “I am curious how humans keep each other alive despite the fragile biology.”

  A call came from the floor manager. Serena stood.

  “I have to work,” she said. Then, after a pause: “You’re not stealing business.”

  “No.”

  She nodded once. “Good.”

  She left him there.

  The next time Serena saw Shi, she was barefoot in an alley.

  She was chasing the clients—voice sharp with anger and panic.

  “Hey! You don’t just walk away without paying!”

  Four men turned, laughing.

  Serena stood under flickering neon, heels clutched in one hand, fury overriding sense.

  Shi paused, silent and watchful.

  One of the men finally noticed him—a tall, sharply outlined figure beneath the streetlight, back bare, hair falling straight and loose. As Shi stepped forward, shadows seemed to gather around him, and his eyes glimmered with a subtle golden light that pulsed in the darkness.

  “Well damn,” one of the men said. “You bring backup?”

  The men closed in, laughter turning sharp. Then, without warning, Shi appeared at Serena’s side, his presence shifting the air.

  Serena startled but still managed to keep herself calm. “Leave, it’s none of your business” she hissed. “I’ve got this.”

  “Ha haha, let’s see what you’ve got then.” One of the men taunted.

  A hand reached for Serena’s wrist.

  “Step away from her,” Shi said softly.

  They didn’t.

  The world tilted.

  Pressure slammed inward—skull, thought, marrow.

  The four men recoiled as if struck by an invisible wave. Knees buckled. Breath shattered in their throats. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to a single, crushing force—then silence fell, broken only by the sound of bodies hitting wet concrete.

  The golden eyes turned suddenly into pitch blackness.

  Telepathy ripped through them—a raw, merciless force. Minds buckled, bodies crumpled. Screams fractured, dissolving into whimpers that faded into the dark.

  When it was over, four men lay trembling on the wet concrete, breathless and broken. One had lost control entirely—a spreading stain beneath him, shameful proof of terror.

  Shi gathered the scattered bills and pressed them into Serena’s trembling hand.

  “Here, take it,” he said, eyes back to the golden colour that Serena remembered before.

  She stared at him, stunned. “You.”

  “Yes.”

  “…what did you do,” she said weakly.

  “Helping.”

  She swallowed. “T-Thank you.”

  “You are welcome,” Shi replied gently.

  Shi offered to walk Serena home, and again—despite her better judgment—she let him.

  The apartment door closed behind them with a soft click.

  The space was small. Warm. Lived-in in a way that didn’t try to hide itself—shoes by the wall, a folded blanket sagging into the couch, a nightlight bleeding faint yellow from the hallway.

  Shi had taken two steps inside when a sound reached him.

  “Mom?”

  Not loud. Not afraid. Just uncertain enough to pull attention sharp.

  He turned too fast.

  A child stood at the end of the hallway.

  Bare feet on cold tile. Pale hair mussed from sleep. One arm locked around a stuffed animal with a missing eye, the fabric worn thin at the neck where small fingers had gripped it too many times.

  Shi was on one knee before he realised gravity had changed.

  The room narrowed to a single point of focus, everything else dissolving into peripheral

  noise. His attention tunneled so completely that the sound of Serena’s breathing vanished. His own pulse became intrusive, loud in his ears.

  The child tilted her head.

  The angle was wrong.

  Another small face looked at him the same way.

  The one he could not save.

  His own.

  Shi’s hand pressed flat against the floor to keep himself upright. His fingers curled, then relaxed, then curled again—an unconscious motion, as if preparing to shield something that was not there.

  Serena froze. “Hey—are you okay?”

  He didn’t answer.

  The child took one small step forward, curiosity outweighing caution. She studied him with the unfiltered seriousness of someone who had not yet learned fear as a default.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  Shi forced air back into his lungs in measured increments. Slow. Controlled. Too slow.

  “I’m Shi,” he said.

  The name came out bare, stripped of everything else he usually wrapped around it.

  The child nodded, accepting this as sufficient.

  “I’m Lily,” she said. She lifted the stuffed bear as if it required formal introduction. “This is Doctor Bear.”

  The name landed harder than it should have.

  Shi’s vision blurred—not with tears, but with pressure. His jaw clenched. He lowered his gaze for half a second too long.

  “Nice to meet you too, Doctor Bear. ” he said.

  The effort it took to keep his voice steady surprised him.

  Lily watched him closely, eyes bright, unguarded.

  Serena crossed the room and lifted her into her arms.

  “He helped mommy at work today,” she said quietly.

  Lily’s face lit up. She twisted to look back at him, smile wide and unfiltered.

  “Thank you, Mister,” she said. “Mommy always comes home sad.”

  The words struck with surgical precision.

  Shi lifted his head.

  Something in his expression changed—not warmth, not softness, but something deeper.

  “Then,” he said carefully, “we should not let mommy be sad.”

  Lily considered him, weighing the statement with solemn seriousness. She raised Doctor Bear.

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  He did not hesitate.

  Later, when Lily was back in bed and the apartment had settled into silence, Serena wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

  “Sorry,” she said. “She usually stays asleep.”

  “That’s fine,” Shi replied.

  “How old is she?”

  “Three.”

  The number sat heavily between them.

  Shi’s gaze drifted—not to Serena, but to the closed bedroom door.

  His shoulders had not relaxed.

  “I want to understand human medicine,” he said quietly. “And you want to practice it.”

  He met her eyes.

  “So we will make sure neither of you is sad after work.”

  Shi stepped out of the apartment building into the thinning dark.

  Traffic dulled to a distant hush, the night loosening its grip as streetlights hummed toward early morning. Cold air brushed across his bare back, sharp enough to pull him fully into the present.

  Shi paused on the steps.

  “Lord Shi.”

  He looked up.

  A tall blond figure stood a short distance away, coat pulled tight against the chill. His posture was relaxed but deliberate, the kind that never wasted movement. Three narrow braids threaded through the left side of his long hair, the rest falling loose down his back. Broad shoulders, unmistakable height—someone accustomed to being seen and obeyed.

  “You were not at the appointed location when we gathered,” Xiao said.

  Shi glanced back once at the building behind him. A single window still glowed faintly on an upper floor.

  “I was delayed,” he replied.

  Xiao followed the look, then looked away without comment.

  “His Majesty is waiting,” he said.

  Shi stepped down from the stoop and closed the distance between them. There was no hesitation, no need for further explanation.

  “Then,” Shi said lightly, “we shouldn’t keep the brat waiting, shall we?”

  Xiao did not react to the word ‘brat’, instead he simply inclined his head and turned with him, and together they started down the street.