The first sign that something was wrong came with the wind.
It arrived without warning, sweeping through the village in the middle of the afternoon — sharp, cold, and restless. It rattled shutters, bent tree branches, and sent loose leaves spiraling like startled birds.
Ling Yue paused mid-step, her basket nearly slipping from her hands.
"That's strange," she murmured. "It wasn't supposed to rain today."
Ye was already moving.
He caught the basket before it fell, his fingers brushing hers. His expression had changed — not fear, not alarm, but focus.
"Go inside," he said gently.
She frowned. "Why?"
"For now," he added, softer.
The wind surged again, stronger this time. Somewhere nearby, someone shouted as a wooden sign tore loose and crashed to the ground.
Ling Yue's heart began to pound.
---
The chaos lasted only moments.
The wind stilled as suddenly as it had come. The sky cleared, clouds scattering as if nothing had happened at all.
Too fast.
Too clean.
Villagers stepped cautiously back into the open, murmuring among themselves.
"That was odd," Mei Qiao said, clutching her shawl tighter. "Like the storm changed its mind."
Ling Yue looked at Ye.
He was breathing evenly. Too evenly.
"Ye," she said slowly, "did you feel that?"
"Yes."
Her gaze sharpened. "You sound like you expected it."
He hesitated — just a fraction too long.
"I've seen weather turn quickly before," he said.
That answer didn't sit right with her.
---
They walked away from the crowd, toward the quieter path near the old storehouse. Ling Yue's steps were unsteady now, the delayed fear finally catching up with her.
"Something's wrong," she said under her breath. "I don't know what, but—"
Her voice broke.
She hadn't realized how shaken she was until her hands started trembling.
Ye stopped.
He turned to her, concern etched openly across his face.
"Ling Yue," he said softly.
"I don't like not understanding," she admitted, eyes stinging. "The wind, the way everyone just… accepted it. And you— you were calm. Too calm."
She laughed weakly. "I feel silly."
"You're not," he said immediately.
She looked up at him, really looked — and something in his eyes undid her.
Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
It wasn't graceful.
It wasn't planned.
It was instinct.
Ye stiffened in surprise — then slowly, carefully, his arms came around her.
The world narrowed.
The tension in her chest finally gave way, her forehead pressing against his shoulder as she breathed him in.
He held her firmly, grounding, one hand resting between her shoulder blades.
"It's alright," he murmured. "You're safe."
She clutched his sleeve tighter. "Promise?"
He closed his eyes.
"Yes," he said. "As long as I'm here."
---
They stayed like that longer than necessary.
Long enough for her breathing to steady.
Long enough for his heart to ache.
When she finally pulled back, she looked embarrassed. "Sorry. I just—"
"Don't," he said. "You didn't do anything wrong."
She studied his face. "You always say that."
"Because it's true."
She smiled faintly, though uncertainty still lingered in her eyes.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For staying."
His smile this time was quieter. Smaller.
---
That night, Ye stood alone at the edge of the village.
The air still carried a faint residue — the echo of power used and withdrawn too quickly. He flexed his fingers, feeling the subtle resistance of the mortal world pressing back.
It had noticed.
Not fully.
Not yet.
But soon.
He looked toward Ling Yue's window, where a single lamp glowed softly.
The memory of her arms around him lingered — warm, trusting.
A comfort he could not afford.
Still… he would not regret it.
Not even when the price came due.