I woke to quiet.
Not the kind where everyone was holding their breath to see if I'd bite the hand that they thought fed me… but real quiet.
The sort that has a pulse—steam hissing somewhere, a ladle knocking a pot, Shadow's slow dog-sigh against the floor.
Good. I needed that kind.
The bed smelled faintly of sandalwood and the kind of soap Mingyu likes even though I told him I prefer things that don't smell like a shrine. I stretched and felt every place he'd been last night, all the places he'd taken his time like he had all of it. My body ached in the way I liked. Not war-ache. A lived-in ache.
I got up, tied a robe, and padded barefoot past the screen. Yaozu was where Yaozu always was—leaning on the doorframe, his hands loose, and his attention tight. He glanced over, checked my face like he could read weather off it, and didn't ask anything out loud.
"Food?" he offered.
