## Chapter 5: After the Dance

*2:47 AM*

Aiko stared at the business card on her nightstand, her laptop forgotten on her lap as the cursor blinked impatiently at the end of her latest sentence.

*The predator moved through the ballroom with practiced ease, his true nature hidden beneath layers of expensive fabric and social graces...*

She'd been trying to write for the past two hours, but every time she attempted to describe her fictional villain, all she could think about was Jin's hands on her waist, the way he'd looked at her like she was the most fascinating puzzle he'd ever encountered, the warmth in his laugh when she'd refused to be intimidated by his reputation.

"This is insane," she muttered to herself, closing the laptop and picking up the card for what had to be the twentieth time since she'd gotten home.

Heavy cardstock. Elegant typography. Nothing but a name and a phone number, like he existed in some space between the legitimate world and whatever shadows he actually inhabited.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Yuki: *I'm coming over with coffee and pastries and I'm not leaving until you tell me EVERYTHING about tall, dark, and mysterious.*

Aiko groaned, looking at the time. Nearly 3 AM, and Yuki was still wide awake and apparently planning an assault with caffeine and baked goods. She typed back: *It's almost 3 in the morning.*

The response was immediate: *And? I'm an artist. Artists don't sleep. Besides, I saw the way you two were looking at each other. This is important.*

*Nothing happened. We just danced.*

*"Just danced" my ass. I've never seen you look at anyone the way you were looking at him. Or let anyone look at you like that.*

*Like what?*

*Like he wanted to either devour you or worship you. Possibly both.*

Aiko's cheeks burned as she remembered the intensity in Jin's dark eyes, the way his thumb had traced that small circle against her back, the moment when she'd thought he might lean down and—

Another text: *I'm in the lobby. Buzz me up.*

"Of course you are," Aiko sighed, padding to the intercom in her pajamas and fuzzy slippers.

Yuki appeared at her door fifteen minutes later with an armload of supplies from the 24-hour bakery down the street, her eyes bright with curiosity and caffeine.

"Okay," she said, setting up what looked like a full-scale interrogation station on Aiko's kitchen table, "start from the beginning. And don't even think about leaving out details."

"There's nothing to tell," Aiko protested, though she accepted the coffee gratefully. "He's just someone I met at the party."

"Someone you met who made you forget how to breathe properly, apparently." Yuki settled into her chair with the predatory focus of a prosecutor about to question a hostile witness. "I watched you two dancing, Aiko. That wasn't casual small talk. That was... intense."

"It was just conversation."

"What kind of conversation makes you look like you're about to either run away or jump someone's bones?"

"Yuki!"

"What? I'm just saying, I've never seen you react to anyone like that. Ever. Not even that pretentious poet you dated last year." Yuki leaned forward, her expression turning more serious. "He's different, isn't he? Jin."

Aiko thought about dark alleys and blood on concrete and eyes that held secrets she couldn't even begin to imagine. "Yeah. He's different."

"Different how?"

"Just... complicated. The kind of person who's probably more trouble than he's worth."

"The best ones usually are." Yuki grinned. "So when are you seeing him again?"

"I'm not."

"Bullshit. He gave you his number, didn't he?"

Aiko's silence was answer enough. Yuki's eyes lit up with triumph.

"I knew it! Where's the card?"

"What card?"

"Aiko Sato, I have known you since we were fifteen years old. You get the same expression on your face when you're lying that you got when you told our homeroom teacher you'd definitely turned in that essay on time." Yuki crossed her arms. "Where. Is. The card?"

Defeated, Aiko retrieved the business card from her nightstand, holding it out like evidence in a crime she wasn't sure she wanted to confess to.

Yuki examined it with the intensity of a forensic expert. "Interesting. No company name, no title. Very mysterious." She looked up at Aiko with a speculative expression. "What kind of work do you think he does?"

*Kills people who don't pay their debts,* Aiko thought. "I have no idea."

"Well, there's one way to find out."

"No."

"Come on, just text him. Something casual. 'Thanks for the dance' or—"

"Absolutely not."

"Why? What's the worst that could happen?"

Aiko thought about that question for a long moment. What was the worst that could happen? She could text Jin and fall deeper into whatever dangerous game he was playing. She could discover that her fascination with him was mutual and find herself pulled into a world where people solved problems with violence instead of words.

She could get hurt. Or worse, she could hurt someone else by association.

"I just think it's better to leave it alone," she said finally.

Yuki studied her face with the kind of careful attention that came from years of friendship. "Okay, what aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing. I just—"

"Aiko." Yuki's voice was gentle but implacable. "I watched you tonight. I saw the way you looked when you first spotted him across the room. You went white as a sheet, like you'd seen a ghost."

*Close,* Aiko thought. *More like I saw a murderer.*

"You recognized him," Yuki continued, her expression growing more serious. "You'd seen him before, hadn't you?"

Aiko felt trapped between the truth and a lie that was becoming harder to maintain. Yuki was her best friend, the person who'd stood by her through every crisis and celebration of the past five years. She deserved honesty.

But honesty might also get her hurt.

"It's complicated," Aiko said finally.

"How complicated?"

"The kind where knowing too much might be dangerous."

Yuki went very still. "Dangerous how?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Aiko, you're scaring me. What kind of man did you dance with tonight?"

*The kind who kills people with his bare hands and doesn't lose sleep over it. The kind who moves through Tokyo's underworld like he owns it. The kind who looked at me like I was the most interesting thing he'd encountered in years.*

"The kind I should probably stay away from," Aiko said quietly.

"But you don't want to."

It wasn't a question, and Aiko didn't try to deny it. "No. I don't want to."

Yuki reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Then maybe you shouldn't."

"What?"

"Stay away from him, I mean." Yuki's expression was thoughtful. "Look, I don't know what's going on, and I can tell you're not going to tell me everything. But I do know you, Aiko. You're smart, you're careful, and you have good instincts about people."

"My instincts are telling me he's dangerous."

"And?"

"And I should listen to them."

"Or," Yuki said gently, "maybe your instincts are telling you he's dangerous but not to you specifically."

The words hit closer to home than Aiko was comfortable with. Because that was exactly what her instincts were telling her. Jin was absolutely dangerous—she'd seen proof of that firsthand. But when he'd looked at her, when he'd held her while they danced, when he'd smiled at her refusal to be intimidated...

She hadn't felt like she was in danger from him. She'd felt like she was in danger of falling for him.

"This is a bad idea," she said, though she was already reaching for the business card.

"The best ideas usually are," Yuki replied with a grin. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

---

*Across Town*

Jin stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse apartment, looking out at Tokyo's glittering skyline while nursing a glass of whiskey he hadn't actually tasted.

He should be thinking about business. The shipment arriving next week, the territorial dispute with the Ice Blades that was threatening to turn violent, the dozen different problems that required his attention and decision-making.

Instead, he was thinking about a writer with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, who'd looked at him like she could see straight through every mask he wore and wasn't particularly impressed by what she found underneath.

*You're not what I expected,* he'd told her, and it had been the truth. He'd approached her expecting fear, submission, maybe an attempt at blackmail or negotiation.

He hadn't expected intelligence. He hadn't expected humor. He certainly hadn't expected the way she'd felt in his arms while they danced, like she belonged there despite every rational reason why she shouldn't.

"Dangerous," he said aloud to his empty apartment.

Not dangerous because she might expose him—he'd dealt with far more serious threats to his operation than one civilian witness. Dangerous because she made him want things he'd given up hoping for years ago. Things like normal conversations and genuine laughter and the possibility of being seen as something other than a weapon or a threat.

His phone buzzed with a text from his lieutenant: *Ice Blades are moving product through Sector 7 again. Want us to send a message?*

Jin stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back: *Handle it quietly. No unnecessary casualties.*

*Copy that, boss.*

He set the phone aside and returned to his contemplation of the city lights, but his mind kept drifting back to the ballroom, to the way Aiko had looked up at him when he'd asked her to dance, to the moment when she'd taken his hand despite knowing exactly what he was capable of.

*Safe is boring,* she'd said, and something in his chest had responded to those words like a tuning fork struck in perfect pitch.

Most people who discovered what he really was either ran away screaming or tried to use the information for their own gain. But Aiko... Aiko had turned it into art. Had found beauty in darkness, complexity in violence, humanity in the very thing that made him monstrous.

His phone buzzed again. This time, it was an unknown number.

*Thank you for the dance. And for not being what I expected either. - A*

Jin stared at the message for a long time, something warm and unfamiliar spreading through his chest. She'd texted him. Despite everything she knew, despite every rational reason to stay away, she'd reached out.

He started to type a response, deleted it, tried again.

*What did you expect?*

Her reply came quickly: *Someone who wouldn't make me want to throw my self-preservation instincts out the window.*

Jin's laugh was quiet and genuine, echoing in the empty space of his apartment.

*And now?*

*Now I'm wondering if self-preservation is overrated.*

*Dangerous thinking.*

*I'm starting to think I like dangerous.*

Jin set down his whiskey and moved to the couch, suddenly more interested in this conversation than anything else happening in his carefully controlled world.

*Are you sure about that?*

*Ask me again tomorrow.*

*Is that an invitation?*

*It's a maybe. Which is more than I should probably offer.*

*I'll take a maybe.*

There was a pause, and Jin found himself staring at his phone like a teenager waiting for a response from his first crush.

*Jin?*

*Yes?*

*Whatever this is... I want you to know I'm not naive. I know you're not just a charming businessman who happened to ask me to dance.*

Jin's chest tightened. *And you're texting me anyway.*

*And I'm texting you anyway.*

*Why?*

Another pause. Then: *Because for the first time in my life, I met someone who made me feel like the most interesting person in the room instead of the most invisible. Even if you are probably going to be the death of me.*

*I would never hurt you.*

The words were typed before Jin could stop them, a promise that came from somewhere deeper than strategy or manipulation. And as soon as he sent it, he knew it was true.

*I know. That's what scares me most.*

*What do you mean?*

*I mean I'm not afraid you'll hurt me, Jin. I'm afraid I'll let you.*

Jin stared at the message for a long time, understanding exactly what she meant. Because he was facing the same fear from the other direction—not that she would hurt him, but that he'd let her. That he'd let someone matter enough to become a weakness he couldn't afford.

*Get some sleep, Aiko. We'll figure this out.*

*Will we?*

*We will.*

*Promise?*

Jin looked out at the city that had shaped him, that had made him into someone who solved problems with violence and protected himself with isolation. Then he thought about dancing with a woman who refused to be afraid of him, who saw darkness and complexity and chose to find it beautiful instead of terrifying.

*Promise.*

*Good night, Jin.*

*Good night.*

He set the phone aside and finished his whiskey, but for the first time in years, the silence of his apartment didn't feel like solitude.

It felt like possibility.