The cold bit harder when the gallop slowed. The battalion reined in at a sheltered ridge, wind tearing at their cloaks. Ruo Han's pulse was still pounding, not from fear — at least, not entirely — but from the way Ling Han's presence closed in like a blade pressed flat against the skin.
Ling Han dismounted without a word, still holding him by the wrist. He didn't drag Ruo Han, didn't shove him — just led him toward the shelter of a cliff wall, where the snow couldn't reach.
Ruo Han: "What is this? A ransom? A performance for your men?"
Ling Han (quiet): "A chance to remind you who you were before him."
Ruo Han's fan was gone, but his eyes were sharp enough to cut.
Ruo Han: "I remember perfectly. I remember choosing to leave."
Ling Han's gaze flicked to the faint omega scent curling in the air — cold-sweet, touched with adrenaline.
Ling Han: "You were never meant to be hidden away behind someone else's sword."
He stepped closer, close enough that Ruo Han could see the snowmelt running down the plates of his armor, feel the heat rolling off him in contrast to the icy air.
Ruo Han: "And you were never meant to serve an Emperor who hunts his own."
For a moment, their breaths mingled, sharp and white in the cold — not with softness, but with the kind of tension that could tip into either violence or something else entirely.
Ling Han didn't touch him again. He didn't need to. The weight of his stare was enough to make Ruo Han's chest feel too tight.
Ling Han: "We'll see how much of that loyalty lasts… when he's not here to guard you."
The sound of boots crunching over snow broke the moment. A soldier approached, bowing low.
Soldier: "Commander — scouts say he's coming."
Ling Han's mouth curved, not quite a smile.
Ling Han: "Good. Let him."