The inn's common room was warm, the air thick with the scent of braised pork and spiced wine. Snowmelt dripped from their cloaks, pooling on the wooden floor.
A fire roared in the stone hearth, and a handful of travelers nursed their drinks. The three of them chose a table near the wall, backs to the room out of habit.
They'd just settled when the man by the fire spoke.
"Long road from the north, isn't it?"
Xiyue didn't look up from untying his gloves. "We passed through."
The man chuckled, the sound low and unhurried. "Funny. I hear the pass is closed this time of year. Unless you took the old trail through Blackpine Gorge. Dangerous that way. Bandits… and worse."
Ling Han's gaze flicked toward him, sharp. "You seem to know a lot about our route."
The man swirled his cup lazily. "Only what I've heard. And I hear other things too." His eyes shifted to Ruo Han, lingering. "Like how the youngest son of the Jade Lotus Sect vanished three winters ago without a trace."
Ruo Han froze mid-breath.
Xiyue's fingers stilled on his gloves. "Careful," he said softly, "names can be dangerous."
"Oh, I know," the man replied, leaning back. "Especially when they belong to people who are supposed to be dead."
The fire popped, throwing a brief flare of light across his face—and that's when Ruo Han noticed it. A faint silver mark just below the man's ear, shaped like a crescent moon. Not an ornament. A brand.
The man smiled, too easily. "Still… fate has a way of bringing the right people together."
Xiyue's eyes narrowed. "You mean here. Tonight."
"Exactly."
And then the door opened. Four more men stepped inside, shedding snow from their cloaks. They didn't look like travelers. They looked like the kind who didn't care how much blood got on their boots.