Lord Wei's chambers felt like a cage closing in. The air hung heavy with the scent of cooling tea from Liana's abandoned tray, floral notes now soured by dread. He paced the polished stone floor, boots echoing like accusations, his dark robes swirling with each sharp turn. The guard captain burst through the door moments after Liana's disappearance, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill night.
"My lord," the captain gasped, bowing low, "the maid Meng, she slipped into the town market with her escort. We tailed her as ordered. But at the alley corner... gone. No scream, no struggle. Vanished like mist."
Wei's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching under his chiseled features. His mind raced, Liana wasn't careless, her steps were trained precision, Jian's legacy etched into every movement. "Vanished?" he repeated, voice low thunder. "Search every stall, every shadow. Question the vendors. Bring me something."
The captain nodded frantically, retreating. Minutes stretched to hours. Wei stood motionless by the window, fists clenched behind his back, staring into the moonlit palace sprawl. Liana's face haunted him, her sharp wit in the alcove, the fire in her eyes during the assassin fight, the way her hand lingered on his during that charged moment by the bed. Not helpless, he thought, but targeted. His pendant burned faintly against his chest, a warning hum.
Dawn crept in gray fingers when the captain returned, face ashen, empty handed. "No trace, my lord. Vendors saw an old beggar wander by tattered robes, cane. Then nothing. She... dissolved into the crowd."
Useless. Rage simmered, but Wei crushed it to steel focus. "Dismissed." Alone again, he shed his outer robe for a plain black cloak, hood shadowing his sharp features. No entourage speed over spectacle. He slipped from his quarters like a ghost, corridors whispering past silent guards. The palace gates loomed; he nodded curtly to sentries, melting into the waking streets.
The town market buzzed faintly with early hawkers, steam rising from dumpling carts, the tang of wet earth and sesame oil thick in the air. Wei moved unseen, a predator in plain sight, tracing the guard's report to the narrow alley. Cobblestones gleamed slick from dew, crates stacked haphazardly like forgotten sentinels. His boot crunched softly, something yielding, unnatural.
He knelt in the dim overhang of a shuttered stall, gloved fingers brushing the ground. White powder, fine as talc, dusted a faint trail toward a shadowed corner. Heart pounding, he scooped a pinch onto his palm. Rubbed it slowly between thumb and forefinger, the acrid, herbal bite hit his nostrils like a slap. Sleep dust. Rare, forbidden, brewed only in hidden lairs. The old man's signature, bitter memory surged, but he locked it down.
Eyes narrowing to slits, Wei's mind snapped to Kieran. The puppet prince's alliance with that withered sorcerer was no secret whisper in shadowed courts. Kieran's hand. Doubt crystallized, not accusation, not yet. Proof first. He sealed the powder in a small vial from his belt pouch, rising fluidly. The alley felt heavier now, walls pressing like conspirators.
No words to the bastard yet. Wei vanished into the pre dawn fog, toward the palace underbelly tunnels. I'll carve the truth from stone itself.