The night pressed down over the palace like a heavy velvet shroud, thick with the scent of camellias and distant storm clouds. Rue Yim sat alone in her chamber, staring at the thin paper walls as candlelight crawled across them in trembling shadows. Her hands lay still on her lap, but her pulse refused to calm. The palace, so quiet at this hour, felt like a living creature holding its breath.
She sensed him even before she heard the sound of footsteps.
Wang Si.
A soft knock sounded once—polite, controlled—and then the door slid open. He stepped inside, carrying with him the chill of night air and something else: a tension coiled beneath his calm expression, like a bowstring pulled taut.
"Rue Yim," he breathed, voice lowered, intimate. "You're still awake."
Of course she was awake. How could she sleep? She was living inside a past that had no right to exist, trapped in a palace she didn't trust, surrounded by people who had once died… and who might die again if Saya wished it.
