The door did not so much as rattle when Lin Yue threw his shoulder against it a second time.
It simply refused to exist as a door anymore—not locked, not barred, but sealed in the way a scar seals a wound, smooth and final, as though no opening had ever been there to begin with.
"It's not going to open," Bai Wuyin said quietly, still holding onto his sleeve. "I don't think it was ever a door that could be opened from this side."
"I noticed," Lin Yue said, stepping back from the frame.
Behind them, the vanity mirror sat dark and undisturbed, the veiled woman gone from its surface, leaving only his own tired reflection and the pale shape of Bai Wuyin beside him. The bridal chamber held its breath around them, red silk unmoving, candlelight without flame, the cold pressing in from every direction at once.
Then the floor groaned.
