She was addicted. Not metaphorically — chemically, spiritually, physically. The divine qi he had been pumping into her body for days had rewired her nervous system. Her body craved his proximity the way a drug addict craves the needle. Without him, she felt cold. Empty. Wrong.
They arrived at a palace. Not the grand, jade-and-gold construction of the immortal dynasty. This was smaller. Simpler. Built of dark wood and pale stone, the architecture of the sword domain — clean lines, functional beauty, the walls inscribed with defensive formations that hummed with condensed intent. A family home. The home of her brother.
Tianlong pushed her forward. Gently. A nudge. She moved — swiftly, instantly, the trained response of a woman whose body obeyed her master's directions without consulting her mind — toward the entrance.
Soldiers arrived. Two guards, their swords drawn, their faces alert. They saw the woman. Their eyes widened.
