"Closer," Yaozu murmured against the quilt, and Xinying leaned until her hair slid across Mingyu's arm.
He caught her wrist before she could pull back, his thumb covering the crescent of ink she'd forgotten to wash away. Heat from the brazier licked their ankles; Lin Wei turned once on the pallet by Shadow's ribs and settled.
Nobody spoke.
Breathing did the counting for them.
"What are you worried about?" Mingyu asked, low enough not to wake the boy. Now that he had finally been separated from Yizhen, they were more welcome to the idea of him sleeping in their room.
She didn't pretend not to understand. "You. Him." A tilt toward Yaozu. "Them," turning her chin toward the lattice and all the hours on the other side of it. "And the part of me that keeps making lists when I should be asleep."
