The next morning dawned pale and misty, the soft light filtering through the canopy casting a serene glow over the camp. Yet beneath the calm surface, tension simmered like an undercurrent no one dared speak of aloud.
Hei Long awoke early, stretching with practiced ease before slipping out of his tent.
His thoughts were already on the delicate balance of the mission, on Mu Lanyue, and on the silent war with Lin Fan. He knew this was more than a simple escort—it was a battlefield of emotions, strategy, and wills.
As he made his way toward the communal fire, he spotted Mu Lanyue seated on a fallen log, quietly sharpening a slender dagger. Her eyes lifted when she saw him, a faint smile touching her lips.
"Good morning," Hei Long greeted, his voice low but warm.
"Morning," she replied softly, setting the blade aside. "I hope you slept well."
