The moment Rue Yim stepped into the path, the world behind her did not disappear.
It remained.
Wang Si was still there. Ye Jing-e was still there. The chamber still breathed with that unnatural rhythm, threads pulsing like veins beneath skin.
And yet—
Distance no longer behaved like distance.
Each step she took did not merely bring her forward.
It peeled her away.
From sound.
From weight.
From certainty.
The air thickened around her, not resisting—but recognizing. The threads parted without touching her, yet she could feel them more clearly than if they had wrapped around her limbs.
They were not passive.
They were aware.
And as she moved deeper, they began to respond.
Hong Gwi laughing.
Not the guarded, fractured man she had seen earlier—but whole. Bright. Unburdened. A version of him that had never been forced to bend under invisible pressure.
Gone.
