As Han Jiho and the assistant director disappeared between the trees, the clearing settled into a quieter, heavier silence. A light breeze moved through the canopy, carrying the quiet scent of earth and greenery. Birds called lightly from the branches.
Everything about the setting suggested an ordinary, perfect afternoon—yet the weight held between the two people beneath the trees was anything but ordinary.
Su Wanyan buried her face in the crook of Mo Xingxue's neck. "I'm sorry," she croaked, the words thick and broken. "I'm so sorry."
Mo Xingxue cried with her, pressing closer until her own tears soaked into Su Wanyan's shoulder. The soft fabric between them grew damp with the shared weight of everything that had broken open. "Don't be," she managed. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I've brought you into this me—"
Su Wanyan pulled back abruptly, cutting the apology short. The sudden space between them was small but deliberate.
"No."
