Knock...
Knock...
"Why did he call me here?"
Xin Meifang and Qian Yaoyao were trapped behind the warped panels of that old wooden door, a fact Qian Ruixin did nothing to conceal.
The bright hallway flickered with falling sunrays, the air filled with incense and a trace of laundry detergent.
She hovered in front of the staircase, toes curling anxiously against the chill tiles, her bare feet out of place beneath a red, slouchy cotton dress that hung off one shoulder and did nothing to hide her mood, casual, yes, but as if she'd thrown it on in a hurry, not expecting to be summoned to a family tragedy.
She hesitated, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear, eyes darting around like a criminal expecting sirens. Her lips were pressed so tightly it was hard to tell if she was pouting, sulking, or just ready to bite someone. If panic was a color, it'd be smudged across her face.
