The western watchpost was little more than a wooden pavilion on the cliff's edge, overlooking the silver thread of the river far below. That night, the wind carried the scent of wet stone and pine, and the moon hung low over the mountains.
Lan Xiyue sat at the edge of the pavilion, polishing his sword in slow, measured strokes. Ruo Han sat a few steps away, his back against one of the wooden pillars, knees drawn up, a folded talisman resting loosely between his fingers.
They had not spoken much since the battle. The silence wasn't awkward — but it was heavy, full of things neither seemed willing to voice.
Finally, Lan Xiyue broke it.
"You shouldn't have stepped forward today."
Ruo Han's gaze flicked to him, unreadable. "And if I hadn't?"
"Then I'd have killed them all myself."
A faint huff of laughter escaped Ruo Han. "Always so sure of yourself."
Lan Xiyue set his sword aside, leaning back on his hands. "I'm sure of what's mine."
The words landed between them like a stone dropped in still water, ripples spreading out. Ruo Han's heartbeat stuttered in his chest. He knew Lan Xiyue meant it in the way an alpha claimed responsibility for someone under their protection — but the bond twisted the meaning until it was warmer, sharper, dangerously personal.
The wind shifted, bringing with it the faint cedar-and-storm scent that always clung to Lan Xiyue. Ruo Han's own rain-honey scent stirred in response, subtle but enough that Lan Xiyue's eyes narrowed slightly, catching it.
They looked at each other — really looked — and the pull of the bond was a living thing now, threading heat into the cool night air.
Ruo Han's voice was quiet. "You… feel it too."
Lan Xiyue didn't deny it. "I've felt it since the first time you set foot in the sect."
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Ruo Han shifted, his hand tightening around the talisman. "Then why—"
A sharp crack echoed through the night — the sound of wood splintering. Both were on their feet instantly, the charged moment shattering like glass.
Lan Xiyue's sword was in hand as a messenger disciple stumbled into the pavilion, breathless.
"Elder Qian sends word — the Sect Master wants you both back in the main hall. Now."
Lan Xiyue glanced at Ruo Han, the unspoken words still hovering between them.
Neither of them said what they'd been about to — and somehow, that made the air between them even heavier as they followed the messenger into the moonlit path.