As she was thinking this through, the bait finally took hold.

A woman approached her table at a measured pace.

Zoe had not chosen any traditional local attire, instead opting for a casual, almost careless outfit that emphasised her individuality. Tight denim jeans clung to her legs beneath a loose black leather jacket. Several thin silver chains hung around her neck, matching the small silver rings on her ears, giving her an understated yet sharp edge.

Her hair was tied high into a slightly messy ponytail. A few loose strands fell across her face, partially obscuring one eye and adding to her cold, unapproachable aura.

What set her apart even further was the way she carried herself, not like someone performing a role, rather like someone used to being obeyed without explanation.

She sat down directly opposite Zoe and spoke in English without preamble, her voice slightly rough.

"Hey… are you interested in-"

She did not finish the sentence. Her hand moved forward, aiming to casually rest on Zoe's.

Zoe leaned back just enough to avoid the contact.

The woman's expression tightened briefly in awkwardness.

Zoe, however, paid it no attention. Her focus had already shifted elsewhere. The group of street thugs who had been watching her earlier were no longer fixated on her after the woman appeared.

They were clustered further down the street near a dim storefront, pretending to loiter without purpose. Their clothing was inconsistent yet coordinated in a subtle way, suggesting the same group rather than random drifters. Several of them spoke in low voices in Mandarin Chinese, mixed with occasional Turkish, their accents and phrasing pointing toward mainland Chinese origin rather than local groups in Northern Cyprus.

More importantly, there was a faint trace of fear within their emotional reactions.

They were not people who respected any form of criminal honour. That left two possibilities: either they were connected to this woman, or they were afraid of her.

From what she could sense, the second option was more likely.

This woman was not ordinary.

Still, it did not matter much. If this lead proved useless, she would simply find another target.

After a brief pause, Zoe spoke in fluent English, her tone deliberately curious.

"What do you mean? Some kind of service?"

Her expression carried mild confusion, almost innocent. At the same time, she subtly used her ability to influence emotional perception, amplifying the woman's impulsiveness while reducing her caution. It was enough to blur judgement, not enough to trigger any awareness.

The woman's earlier embarrassment faded quickly. She smiled again, more practised this time.

"You know what I mean. Want to come with me?"

As she spoke, she leaned forward, deliberately emphasising her figure in a way meant to entice.

Zoe nodded.

She paid quickly and followed her out, acting as though she had been completely drawn in.

Night gradually settled over Kyrenia in Northern Cyprus. Neon lights began to flicker along the streets, casting shifting colours across the pavement. The air carried a mixture of sea breeze and street food aromas, while distant guitar music added a faint rhythm to the night.

Beneath this surface, Zoe remained focused on the woman ahead, who was leading her deeper into quieter and more sparsely populated areas.

The woman moved with clear familiarity, not like a first-time visitor rather like someone who had used these routes repeatedly. Her steps never hesitated at junctions, and she occasionally exchanged brief signals with figures stationed at corners or within doorways-men who kept their heads lowered and avoided eye contact. Their presence formed a loose perimeter, as if the path itself had been prepared in advance.

They turned into narrow alleys until they finally arrived at a small, unremarkable building.

Inside, the place looked like a rented room. At first glance, it appeared empty.

The woman sat on the bed as though completely at ease and gestured for Zoe to come closer.

Only then did Zoe stop pretending.

A faint smile appeared on her face.

"I have to admit," she said calmly in her native language, "your greed, your coldness, and that intent to kill are all completely obvious. It is unpleasant."

The woman stared, not understanding the words, yet she could clearly feel the shift in atmosphere.

The expression in front of her was no longer that of a naive tourist. It had become quiet, cold, and controlled.

Zoe continued, gaze steady.

"If this had just been a simple scam, I might have let it go. At most, I would have broken a leg or two and moved on."

Her tone remained even.

"This place smells of blood. And there are two men hiding in here. I can sense them."

At that moment, the woman realised something was wrong.

Her expression hardened. She shouted sharply.

"Now!"

Two men immediately emerged from concealment inside the room, each holding a machete, charging forward without hesitation.

Both were built heavily, with sun-weathered skin and the tense posture of people used to coordinated violence rather than improvisation. Their speech earlier, when they had been waiting in the shadows, had been in foreign language, confirming they were part of the same foreign-origin group operating far from home, likely tied to an organised criminal network rather than local groups.

Ordinary travellers would have frozen at that sight.

Zoe did not react.

Killing intent spread out in an instant.

The two attackers collapsed almost immediately, their momentum severed as though their minds and bodies had been stripped of will. To her, they were no different from something fragile and disposable.

The silence in the room held for a moment.

Then the two men simply dropped.

There was no struggle nor resistance, only bodies collapsing mid-motion as if their internal structure had been severed at the source. The woman had expected violence, impact, blood, anything she could understand. Instead, she saw something that made no sense at all.

For a long moment, the woman remained frozen on the bed and her slinted eyes widened.

Her earlier confidence broke apart in slow pieces.

She could not understand what had happened. The two attackers had been moving forward one moment, then stopped existing in any meaningful way the next. There had been no visible action, no weapon discharge and not even physical exchange. Even if a gun had been used, there would have been a trace of movement, a recoil or even any sound.

There had been nothing.

Only death arriving without explanation.

Her eyes slowly shifted toward Zoe.

Zoe was already closer than she remembered.

The realisation set in with a delayed, sinking weight. Whatever had just killed those men was connected to her. That much was certain.

The confidence she had been relying on broke completely.

She scrambled back on the bed, then stopped, forcing herself forward again in panic. Her hands moved to her clothes, tearing at them in desperation, trying to turn fear into something that might still be useful.

She did not understand what she was dealing with anymore. Only that survival now depended on the person standing in front of her.

Zoe stepped back at the same time.

Her expression made the rejection clear. It was not hesitation or confusion, rather quiet disgust.

That single reaction shattered what little hope remained.

The woman went pale.

Zoe's voice came out steady, without urgency.

"Tell me everything you know. The hierarchy above you. And the people who actually control this city."

She did not move from where she stood.

The question was not optional.

In this kind of criminal structure, the woman was only a disposable layer. Above her would be coordinators, handlers, and the real decision-makers who moved money and people through the city without ever appearing on the surface. Those were the parts that mattered. The rest was background noise.

The woman understood that immediately.

All thoughts of resistance collapsed.

She began speaking rapidly, almost spilling the words out, listing names, locations, contact routes, and roles as if reciting something memorised under pressure. There was no loyalty in her voice, only urgency. Survival had reduced everything else to irrelevance.

Zoe did not take notes.

She did not need to.

Every name, every address, every connection was absorbed and retained instantly. Her mind processed it faster than speech could deliver it, leaving a familiar sense of imbalance between input and understanding. Human communication always felt slow when measured against her own perception, as if the medium itself was the limitation rather than the content.

She let the woman finish.

When the last details fell into place, the room became quiet again.

The woman looked at her with a mixture of hope and dread, waiting.

Zoe stood up.

Then she spoke again.

"Do you know what forced pleasure is?"

Her tone remained level.

She bound the woman's wrists and legs to the bed with efficient precision, then sealed her mouth so she could no longer speak.

There was no hesitation in her movements.

Cooperation still had one remaining use.

As a controlled subject.

Zoe possessed the ability to influence emotional states directly, shaping their intensity and direction at will. In principle, any emotion could be induced. Pleasure was simply one possible configuration.

Extreme intensity did not remain pleasure. It became overload.

She observed the effect begin.

At first, the woman did not understand what was happening. Her body reacted before her mind could interpret it, a rising warmth without cause. Confusion followed, delayed comprehension, then panic.

The sensation expanded rapidly, filling every available emotional channel until nothing else could compete with it. Thought fragmented. Awareness lost structure. The outside world stopped registering as meaningful input.

At the peak, the system could no longer maintain balance.

The mind collapsed under sustained overload, and the body followed soon after, slipping into irreversible failure as the state reached its limit.

The woman lost consciousness.