Morning broke slow in the orchard, light catching on the dew-beaded branches, turning them to strands of glass.
The Scouts stirred at their usual rhythm — Ji Luan checking the perimeter, Little Mei coaxing the fire to life, Drowsy already circling above in a slow, lazy arc. It could have been any other day. That was the trick of it.
Tian Shen rose with the sun, as always, yet something in him resisted the movement. He lingered by the low wall they had built for drying fruit, fingers resting on the warm stone, gaze traveling the length of the trees.
They had worked so hard to make this place more than a camp — a haven — and now, in the air, he felt the faintest pull of an ending.
Feng Yin noticed. She always did.
"You're watching it like a man watching the tide go out," she said, voice gentle as she joined him.
"Maybe I am," Tian Shen replied. "Or maybe I'm just trying to remember the shape of it before we're somewhere else."
