They left before the sun had fully cleared the rooftops.
The village was still quiet, most of the festival crowd gone, the streets swept clean of the worst of the petals. A few early merchants were out, hauling their wares, but the music and the crowds and the ribbons were all packed away as though none of it had ever happened.
Kui rode at the back, letting Aok and Guilin take the lead.
He kept touching the ribbon in his hair.
He had tied it back in carefully that morning, the way he'd worn it the day before, and no matter how many times he told himself it was just a piece of silk, his fingers kept finding it. Checking. Making sure it was still there.
Ahead of him, Guilin rode without looking back.
Ahead of him, Aok kept throwing glances over his shoulder — small ones, quick ones, the kind that were supposed to be subtle and weren't. Every time Kui caught his eye, Aok would smile, quick and bright, and turn back around.
It was ridiculous. It was so ridiculously obvious.
