The first thing Lin Yue noticed was the pillar.
Not the pillar itself — it was the same grey-lacquered wood it had always been, one of six standing in two rows down the length of the hall. He had catalogued it in the first minutes of their arrival: position, circumference, the faint water stain near its base. He noticed things like that. He kept inventory the way other people kept breath.
What he noticed now was the figure beside it.
There had not been a figure beside it before.
He was certain of this. The kind of certainty that had kept him alive from the previous instance — not perfect, but functional. He had looked at that pillar twice in the last hour. Both times: empty space to its left, a smear of grey shadow to its right where the oil lamp's reach gave out.
Now someone stood there. Head lowered. Mourning white.
