Zhao Lingxi's hands were shaking.
Lan Yue found her in the preparation room behind the arena. The door was ajar. Inside, Zhao Lingxi stood with her back to the entrance, both palms pressed flat against the stone wall, her forehead resting against the cool surface between them. Her breathing was controlled. Too controlled. The deliberate rhythm of someone manually overriding their body's desire to fall apart.
Lan Yue stepped inside and closed the door.
"Everyone is gone," she said. "The healers cleared out. Mo Tian is keeping the corridor empty."
Zhao Lingxi did not turn around. "You saw it."
"I saw it."
"The dark ice. The thing that dissolved the dome." Her voice was steady, but her fingers pressed harder against the wall. The stone beneath her palms began to frost. "I did not call it. It came on its own. When Chen Yulong's cyclone broke through my third layer, something inside me decided that my techniques were not enough and offered an alternative."
"Offered?"
