Chapter 19: The Weight of Silence

A strangled gasp escaped Ling Chen's lips as the grip around his throat loosened—just enough for him to suck in air, but not enough to move. His senses screamed in protest. Every breath he took rattled in his lungs, every heartbeat drummed against the cold press of the man's fingers.

Zhan Yi's sword was steady, but Ling Chen could see it—the minuscule shift in his stance, the tightness in his grip.

"Let him go."

The man holding him smiled, voice a whisper of silk and venom. "Or what? Will you kill me?"

Zhan Yi didn't respond immediately. The silence between them stretched, thick as storm clouds before the downpour. Ling Chen felt it pressing down on him, his body a finely tuned instrument detecting the tension in the air. The wind howled through the ruins, the storm dancing at the edges of their battle.

Then, in a voice colder than steel, Zhan Yi said, "Yes."

The pressure around Ling Chen's throat vanished. The moment he was free, he dropped to the ground, rolling away before the man's fingers could tighten again. Zhan Yi moved in the same breath, sword slicing through the space where the man had stood. But their enemy was gone, dissolving into the mist like a phantom.

Ling Chen coughed, pressing a hand to his bruised throat. "What the hell was that?"

Zhan Yi's gaze remained locked on the swirling mist. "A problem."

Ling Chen scowled. "No kidding."

The ruins were silent again, save for the occasional drip of water from the broken stonework. The battle was over, but the unease in Ling Chen's bones told him otherwise. His senses, still frayed from the fight, reached out, trying to grasp something—anything—that could explain what had just happened.

Nothing.

That was the problem. The man had vanished without a trace. Even the air refused to remember his presence.

Ling Chen exhaled sharply, pushing himself upright. His head swam, but he ignored it. "Are you going to tell me who that was, or do I have to guess?"

Zhan Yi finally sheathed his sword. "Someone who should be dead."

"That's not cryptic at all." Ling Chen wiped at the blood on his sleeve, wincing. "And what did he mean by you 'owing' him?"

Zhan Yi didn't answer. He turned, walking away as if that was the end of the conversation.

Ling Chen groaned. "Oh, fantastic. Just fantastic. Nearly die, get strangled, and now you're brooding." He dragged himself after Zhan Yi, voice laced with sarcasm. "Love that for me."

Zhan Yi remained silent, but Ling Chen caught the smallest twitch in his jaw. The man was irritated. Good. So was he.

They walked in tense silence until they reached the clearing where they had left their belongings. Ling Chen sat down heavily on a fallen log, rubbing at his temples. His thoughts were a tangled mess of half-formed theories, unanswered questions, and the lingering sensation of that hand around his throat.

Something shifted in his bag.

Ling Chen froze.

Then, a long-suffering sigh came from inside. "Finally. Do you know how hard it is to nap when you're getting strangled?"

His shirt rustled indignantly. "Truly inconsiderate."

Ling Chen groaned. "Not now."

His socks, ever the troublemakers, chimed in. "We were just saying, you need to stop getting nearly murdered. It's bad for our elasticity."

His boots thudded against the ground. "Agreed. Also, the blood? Not a good look for us."

Zhan Yi turned his head slightly. "Are you… talking to your clothes?"

Ling Chen pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm trying not to."

His scarf gave an affronted huff. "How rude."

Ling Chen resisted the urge to scream.

Zhan Yi regarded him for a long moment before finally saying, "You're injured."

"I've noticed," Ling Chen muttered.

Zhan Yi pulled a small bottle from his sleeve and tossed it to him. Ling Chen caught it, blinking at the familiar scent of medicinal herbs. He turned it over in his hands, watching the moonlight glint off the glass.

"…Thanks."

Zhan Yi didn't respond. But something about his presence felt… softer.

Ling Chen didn't know what to do with that.

The storm had passed, but its echoes remained. In the broken temple, in the scent of rain-soaked earth, in the unspoken words hanging between them.

And in the way Zhan Yi had frozen when Ling Chen was held hostage.

Ling Chen tightened his grip on the medicine bottle. He didn't know what that meant. Not yet.

But he intended to find out.