The silence after battle was worse than the fight itself.
Ruo Han's pulse was still racing, the heat of the Soul Devourer's breath lingering in his lungs. His wrists ached where the rope bit into them, but he barely noticed—his gaze was locked on the two men standing in front of him.
Lan Xiyue's sword was sheathed, but his grip on the hilt was white-knuckled. Ling Han, on the other hand, leaned his blade casually against his shoulder, eyes glinting like he knew exactly how close he'd come to Xiyue's throat earlier.
Xiyue: "You endangered him."
Ling Han: "I saved him."
The words weren't shouted—they didn't need to be. The weight behind them was sharp enough to cut.
Ruo Han stepped forward, but Xiyue's hand shot out, fingers curling around his arm, firm but not bruising.
Xiyue: "Stay beside me."
Ling Han's gaze flicked to where Xiyue's thumb pressed against Ruo Han's sleeve.
Ling Han: "Funny. I didn't know you were the type to guard a cage."
Xiyue's jaw tightened.
Xiyue: "Better a cage than a grave."
Something in the air cracked.
For a moment, neither man moved—then Ling Han stepped closer, closing the space between them until the tips of their boots almost touched. His smirk was gone now.
Ling Han: "Careful, Lan Xiyue. You're not the only one who knows what's best for him."
Ruo Han felt the pull—like the space between them was a thread wound too tight. All it would take was one more word, one more spark, for it to snap… or ignite.
The snow fell softer now, but the cold never reached them.