Jian waited. He stewed and rehearsed the words in his head, paced the house until the moon slipped higher, and every passing creak wound him tighter. He told himself he would speak with civility, that he'd be measured — but the hours crawled and the man he needed answers from did not return to their room. Not until deep into the night.
Fuming, Jian flung himself out of the house and into the cool orchard air, searching for the small sounds he'd learned to recognize: the tiny clinks of metal, the quiet breath of someone bent over a machine. He followed those noises to the outbuilding at the edge of the yard and froze.
