Mo Han stirred awake, the golden rays of the afternoon sun slipping through the cracks of the stone house window. His head ached faintly, his body heavy as though he had fought a hidden battle through the night. He pushed himself up from the bed, rubbing his temples, trying to recall the fragments—the haze of temptation, the sweet cloying scent of powder, the moment he had nearly fallen into darkness, and the faint trace of a smile he had left behind.
From across the room, Chi Kai had been watching him silently. She sat cross-legged on a cushion, pretending to study a scroll, but her sharp eyes had followed every twitch of his movements since he stumbled back at dawn. Now, as she caught the subtle exhaustion on his face, the faint disturbance in his aura, and the restless way his hand moved across his chest, she clenched her jaw. She turned her head toward Jia Kai, who had just entered carrying a tray of fresh tea.
