The inn was dark except for the single lantern outside their room. Its warm light reached only a short distance before fading into the long hallway. Most of the people staying at the inn were already asleep. The air was quiet, too quiet, as if the whole building was holding its breath.
Feng Jiao Xue stood by the window with the crystal in her hand. The faint purple glow reflected in her still eyes. She had not slept. She could not. Something in the air felt off, like a thin layer of pressure sitting above her skin.
Down on the floor, Mo Tianze had already curled under his blanket. Xu Wenjun snored softly. Jiang Li sat with his sword across his lap, meditating with half-open eyes. Lu Qing Yue leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, resting but alert.
Feng Jiao Xue's hand paused on the window frame.
There was a sound.
Soft. Careful.
Barely more than a breath.
She turned her head slowly. Her senses sharpened like a blade unsheathed.
Someone was walking down the hall.
