She didn't wait for me to speak.
Mu Qinglan stepped back from the mats, tugged the curtain shut behind her, and pulled off her jacket without a word. It landed in a heap near the makeshift bed of layered mats and torn canvas sheets.
Then she turned and removed her jacket without a word. It dropped to the floor beside us, slowly like she was shedding the last layer of everything that kept her distant.
Her black hair fell over one eye as she leaned to the side, with flushed cheeks. And her shirt, thin, clinging with sweat, outlined every curve, every breath, every tremble. Now she revealed everything.
"You don't need to say anything, just… don't stop me."
I didn't move.
She came toward me with that same calculated grace she carried in battle, cold precision hiding the heat underneath. Her fingers reached my collar, trailing down my chest. The tips were warm. A little shaky.
