It seemed to take forever, but finally, Lin Wei fell asleep.
It wasn't the deep, careless sleep of a child who have never known fear, but rather the kind that comes when exhaustion wrestles terror into silence.
His little body went heavy against Yizhen's chest. His breaths were pulling shallow but steady, every exhale warming the silk he refused to let go of.
I sat on the edge of the pallet, my elbows on my knees, watching. My hands smelled faintly of apples and glue, of rope burns erased, of dye scrubbed out of a scalp that should never have been touched by strangers.
Lin Wei didn't loosen his grip even in dreams. His fingers curled like claws in Yizhen's robe, as if the cloth itself was the last plank on a sinking boat. In fact, the boy even refused to lay down on the bed I had prepared for him.
It was almost like he was scared that the moment he closed his eyes, Yizhen would be gone and he would be back in the coffin.
