Chapter Twelve
Ping exhaled slowly, her mind racing. Ling's words still lingered in the air between them.
"Are you willing to listen?"
She had expected anger, maybe even cruelty—but instead, he had given her a choice. And that unsettled her more than anything.
Ling studied her, waiting. His golden eyes were unreadable, but there was something in them… something deeper than the fear she had always associated with him.
Finally, Ping took a small breath. "I'll listen."
A ghost of a smirk crossed Ling's lips. "Good."
He gestured toward the pavilion's stone bench, and for a moment, Ping hesitated. Sitting beside him felt dangerous—not because she feared for her life, but because she didn't know what she might discover.
Still, she lowered herself onto the bench, careful to keep her distance.
Ling leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he gazed out over the lake. "People believe what they want to believe. I stopped trying to convince them otherwise a long time ago."
Ping frowned. "But why? If you didn't kill them, why let the rumors spread?"
Ling was silent for a moment. Then, without looking at her, he said, "Because the truth wouldn't change anything."
Ping's fingers curled against the fabric of her dress. She wanted to push him for more—but something in his voice stopped her.
For the first time since she arrived in Mora, she felt a shift.
This wasn't a conversation between a prisoner and her captor.
This was something else entirely.
An unspoken truce. A fragile understanding.
Ping didn't know where it would lead, but for now—she would let the silence between them speak for itself.