The station was their den.
And at the center of it all, the guy who was lounging on a broken bench like a self-crowned king seemed to be their leader.
He looked to be in his twenties, tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp brows and a smile that seemed to drip honey. His jacket was torn open at the collar, revealing a gleam of a chain necklace and a chest marked with faint scars. His voice carried easily as he laughed with those closest to him, and his every gesture seemed carefully rehearsed to radiate charisma.
If Ling Yu hadn't lived this once before, if she hadn't seen what hid behind that kind smile in her last life, she might have believed him to be the protector he pretended to be. But she knew better than that. The sweet words, warm welcomes were all just false generosity, these were his weapons. And once people grew dependent, once they thought safety came from him, he would bleed them dry.
