Sun Yizhen laughed under his breath. "Deming has been a bad influence on you."
"Or a good one," she returned. "He reminds me to eat. You remind me to imagine bigger. Longzi reminds me to close doors behind us. Mingyu reminds me to let people love me without treating it like an ambush."
"And Yaozu."
"Reminds me I can be sharper," she replied, eyes bright. "Now—maps. Not the ones that the Department of War loves. The kind that only exist between two people."
He leaned forward, elbows to knees, the space between them shrinking until her breath warmed his cheek. "Give me three anchor points," he urged. "Places we'll tie the net to first."
"Amber Gate," she named, not pausing to search. "The westward pass where the salt caravans haggle with wind. The ferry at Reed-Fork, where the river forgets itself and divides into three. And the island town across the strait where fishermen swear their catch tastes like thunder."
