An hour—maybe that much would be fine.
Maybe the weasel was right, a short break really would help.
The Wan-In Sect’s ritual wasn’t until ten tomorrow anyway, and there would still be time then.
Pushing himself too hard today might backfire.
Even Wooseok, if he were here, would probably say the same.
Still, the anxiety wouldn’t go away.
As the pressure built, faint black mamba scales flashed across Wooheon’s skin before vanishing again.
He bit down hard on his lip and let out a short, shallow breath.
“Mr. Lee.”
“Ah, it’s fine. I don’t mind not going.”
Yueul answered quickly, pretending it didn’t bother him.
The black shimmer along Wooheon’s arms darkened at his rather unbothered tone.
“I don’t lie. I said I’d go, didn’t I?”
Wooheon clenched his fist, then slowly loosened it again.
Even after saying it, the pressure still gnawed at him.
He thought—maybe, if Yueul held on to him, it would get a little better.
On impulse, he reached out and grabbed Yueul’s pinky.
