The moment his chamber door sealed shut, Mo Xing's fingers traced elaborate patterns in the air, weaving layers of protective barriers that would prevent anyone from sensing what was about to unfold. He barely made it to the bed before the Darkness surged within him with unprecedented intensity, not in rage but in something akin to yearning—as if throwing a tantrum at being separated from Little Tempest's calming presence.
"Master..." Mian Mian materialized beside him, her ethereal form flickering with concern.
Mo Xing's jaw clenched against waves of increasingly insistent pressure that threatened to tear him apart. He curled in on himself, a position of vulnerability he had never allowed himself, not even in childhood.
