Back at the Savannah courtyard, the world was quiet except for the faint hum of cicadas and the slow rustle of wind brushing against the tall, dry grass.
Wei Ji sat still on the wooden porch, the moonlight painting his skin with a faint silver hue. His hand hovered just above Lu Shaohua's neck, fingers trembling slightly. He could end it now—one clean strike, no noise, no hesitation. It would be easy. Too easy.
But as he looked down at her face, her soft breathing brushing against his sleeve, his killing intent flickered and then weakened.
Her arms were wrapped around him, clinging even in sleep, her head resting on his shoulder as if she trusted him completely. That fragile, unguarded warmth seeped through his chest and tangled around his heart.
He exhaled slowly. The edge in his eyes softened.
