Deming's answer came slow, scraped clean. "I want her to live long enough to die old, with calluses that came from something other than a sword."
Mingyu accepted it with a single nod. "Useful want."
He tipped his head toward Yizhen. "You."
Yizhen let the fan hang from two fingers, studying the painted crane as if it might rescue him. It didn't. "I want to be where she expects me when she turns her head in the dark," he offered, tone stripped of silk for once. "And I want to keep the boy breathing, even if it keeps me outside the room."
Truth sat bare in the half-light. It didn't embarrass him. He'd killed for less.
"Useful," Mingyu allowed, softer there.
"Captain," he prompted.
Longzi's jaw worked once, then steadied. "I want to stand where the next knife hits first," he ground out. "If she gives me a door, I will hold it until the hinges learn my name."
