The air in the old shrine hung heavy with the scent of damp wood and faded incense, the silence broken only by the soft patter of rain on the tiled roof. Feng Ruoxi stood beneath a cracked wooden beam, the phoenix pendant dangling from her fingers, its jade surface catching the faint moonlight filtering through the broken shutters. Jiang Yukang's hand lingered near hers, warm and steady, but she didn't look at him—not yet. Her mind churned with his confession, with the shadow that had darted outside, with the pulsing heat of the phoenix mark on her wrist.
"We're not safe here," she said, her voice low but firm, cutting through the stillness. "Xia's men are too close."
Yukang's jaw tightened, his pistol still in hand as he scanned the shadows beyond the shrine's entrance. "They won't catch us off guard again. Xiao Zheng and Tanaka are watching the perimeter."
