He could not force her to share her secrets.
He could not fight the ghosts in her head.
But he could pull her back to the present.
He could anchor her to the reality of the pavilion, to the warmth of the tea, and to him.
Wangchen took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing the Flawless Ice Qi that had begun to agitate the surrounding air back under absolute control.
He released his clenched fists, smoothing his expression into a mask of calm, engaging composure.
He reached across the table.
He didn't grab her hand.
He tapped the rim of her teacup with his pristine chopstick.
Clink.
The sharp, clear sound of porcelain striking porcelain snapped Ji'an out of her internal plot analysis.
She blinked, her head jerking up, her silver-flecked eyes refocusing on his face.
