For a long moment, he stood in the hush of the hallway, staring at nothing, letting the weight of his silence settle back into its place.
He couldn't leave her alone for a moment. Not when her mind was still so fragile, when one wrong sound could send her spiraling again. With her sleeping so close to Yueqin, he had to be careful.
He turned the handle quietly and stepped back inside.
The dim light bathed the room in soft amber. Yueyao lay curled on her side, her arm draped protectively around Yueqin's tiny frame.
Mother and daughter breathed in unison, their chests rising and falling together as if they had always been one.
Jin Shuren's eyes lingered on them, two figures bound by blood, bound by pain, yet so unaware of the truth that tethered them more tightly than anything else.
For a moment, the mask he wore cracked, a shadow of longing flickering across his face before he forced it still again.
