Wei looked the same.
Of course he did. Eight months hadn't passed for him. He was still young, still soft around the edges, still carrying that earnest warmth in his brown eyes that had made her fall for him in the first place.
He wore the simple gray robes of a palace ward — someone without family, without status, kept around for minor tasks and educated just enough to be useful. His hair was tied back loosely, a few strands escaping to frame his face. In his hands, a red ribbon, bright against the dullness of everything else.
"I brought you something," he said, stepping inside. The door closed behind him. "I saw it in the supply stores. One of the consorts must have discarded it — there's a small tear at the end, but I thought..."
He trailed off, holding it out to her.
She stared at the ribbon. Such a small thing. Such a meaningless gesture in the scope of empires and altars and death.
But she remembered this. He'd given her ribbons before. Small stolen treasures. Proof that someone thought of her, that someone wanted to give her beautiful things even though she was nothing.
She'd kept every single one. Hidden them in a loose stone beneath her bed. Tiny scraps of color in a colorless life.
"It's lovely," she said. Her voice came out steady. She didn't know how.
Wei's face lit up. He crossed the room, closing the distance between them, and pressed the ribbon into her hands. His fingers brushed hers. Warm and familiar.
"I know red isn't your usual color. But I thought — with the spring festival coming — you might want something bright. Even if you can't attend, you could wear it here. Pretend you're celebrating with everyone else."
Pretend.
The word lodged in her chest like a splinter.
"That's thoughtful," she managed.
"Careful," Kaelan murmured. "Your hands are shaking."
She curled her fingers around the ribbon, hiding the tremor. Wei didn't seem to notice. He was looking at her face, that worried crease between his brows that she used to find endearing.
"You seem tired," he said. "Did you sleep badly?"
"Strange dreams."
"Nightmares?"
She almost laughed. What did you call it when your nightmare was a memory? When the monster in your dreams was the man standing in front of you, asking if you were alright?
"Something like that."
He reached for her hand. She let him take it. His thumb traced circles on her knuckles — a gesture of comfort, of intimacy, of this is ours, this small thing we've built together .
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
The word came out sharper than she intended. She saw him flinch, saw the hurt flicker across his face before he smoothed it away.
"Alright," he said softly. "You don't have to."
Guilt twisted in her stomach. Misplaced, useless guilt. He hadn't done anything yet. In this timeline, in this moment, he was just a boy who cared for her. A boy who stole ribbons and mapped escape routes and whispered promises in the dark.
But she'd stood at that wall. She'd waited. She'd died because he wasn't brave enough to save her.
The guilt curdled into something else. Something colder.
"I'm sorry," she said, the words tasting like ash. "I didn't mean to snap. The dreams were... vivid."
"You don't have to apologize." He squeezed her hand. "I know this place is hard. I know every day feels the same. But it won't be forever. I'm working on it. The route is almost mapped. Another few weeks and I'll have everything figured out."
The escape plan. He was already working on it. Already dreaming of running away together.
"Tell me about it," she said.
His eyes brightened. This was his favorite subject — the future, the freedom, the life they'd build together once they were away from this place. He pulled her toward the bed, sat beside her, kept hold of her hand while he talked.
"The eastern wall is the weak point. The guards rotate every two hours, but there's a gap just before midnight when the shift change overlaps. If we time it right, we'll have almost fifteen minutes where no one is watching that section."
She nodded. She knew all of this. He'd told her before, in her first life. The same words, the same excitement, the same blind faith that love was enough to carry them through.
"Once we're past the wall, we head for the lower city. I have a contact there — a man who runs a cart service to the outer provinces. He doesn't ask questions if the coin is right."
"Where did you get coin?"
"I've been saving. Small amounts. Things no one notices missing." He grinned, boyish and proud. "I told you I'd take care of everything."
"You've thought of everything," she said.
"I've thought of you. Every day. Every hour." He lifted her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I know you don't believe it sometimes. I know you think you're not worth saving. But you are. You're worth everything to me."
The words should have meant something. In another life, they had. She'd replayed them in her head during lonely nights, used them as proof, that someone saw her as more than an empty vessel .
Now they sounded hollow. Pretty words from a man who would abandon her when the cost of staying became real.
"Interesting," Kaelan observed. "He believes what he's saying. He genuinely thinks he loves you."
She couldn't respond, not with Wei watching her face, searching for the reaction he expected.
"I love you," Wei said. "You know that, don't you?"
She should say it back. That's what the old her would have done.
But that girl was dead. Bled out on an altar while the man she loved was nowhere to be found.
"I know," she said instead. Not I love you too. Just acceptance of what he claimed to feel.
Wei didn't seem to notice the difference. He smiled, relieved, and leaned closer.
She knew what came next. He would try to kiss her. He always tried, and she always turned away — some instinct she hadn't understood, some part of her that wasn't ready, that wanted to wait until they were free.
Now she understood. Some part of her had always known. Had always sensed the weakness underneath the sweetness.
He leaned in. She felt his breath on her lips. His hand came up to cup her face, gentle, reverent, treating her like something precious.
She turned her head.
His mouth landed on her cheek instead. A soft sound of disappointment escaped him, quickly swallowed.
"Soon," she said. The lie came easily. "When we're out of here. When we're free. I want our first kiss to mean something."
It was what she'd always told him. The excuse she'd always used. He accepted it now, as he always had, pulling back with a rueful smile.
"You're right. Of course you're right. I just... sometimes I want you so badly I forget myself."
"I know."
"Well handled," Kaelan said. "Though I admit I'm curious why you've never let him touch you. Even before you knew what he was."
She couldn't answer him. Not with Wei still there, still holding her hand.
"I should go," Wei said reluctantly. "If I'm gone too long, someone will notice. But I'll come back tomorrow. And the day after. Every day until we're ready to run."
"I'll be here."
He laughed, a little sadly. "I know. I'm sorry. That was a stupid thing to say." He stood, squeezed her fingers one last time, and moved toward the door. "Keep the ribbon. Wear it for me."
She watched him leave. Heard the door close. Heard his footsteps fade down the corridor.
Then she let the ribbon fall from her fingers like it had burned her.
"Breathe," Kaelan said. "You're holding your breath."
She sucked in air. Let it out slowly. Her whole body was trembling now, fine vibrations she couldn't control.
"You did well. He suspects nothing."
"He loves me." The words came out strangled. "He actually loves me. Or he thinks he does."
"Love and cowardice aren't mutually exclusive. He can feel one and be the other."
She looked at the ribbon on the floor.
"In my first life, I kept every gift he gave me. I hid them like treasures." She laughed, and it sounded wrong,too broken. "I was so stupid."
"You were young. And alone. And desperate for connection. That's not stupidity."
She didn't expect the kindness. It caught her off guard, made her throat tight.
"I can't do this," she said. "I can't look at him every day and pretend I don't know. I can't hold his hand and accept his ribbons and listen to him talk about a future he's going to destroy."
"You can. You have to." Kaelan's voice was firm but not cruel. "Eight months is a long time to maintain a mask. But the alternative is revealing yourself too soon. He's your cover. As long as he believes you trust him, no one else will suspect you're planning anything."
"He's not my cover. He's my wound."
"Then use the wound. Let it fuel you. Every time he smiles at you, remember how he left you to die. Every time he whispers promises, remember that he broke every single one. Let it make you stronger instead of weaker."
She picked up the ribbon. Stared at it. Such a small thing to represent so much pain.
"What do I do with this?"
"Wear it. He asked you to. He'll be watching to see if you do."
"I don't want to."
"Want is irrelevant." A pause. "Think of it as armor. A symbol of the role you're playing.She hopes. She waits for her lover to save her."
She wound the ribbon around her fingers.
"Will it always feel like this? This... performance?"
"It gets easier. The mask becomes habit. Eventually you'll barely notice the difference between who you pretend to be and who you are."
"That sounds like a warning."
"It is. Don't lose yourself in the role. Don't forget what's real."
She looked toward the shadow in the corner. That cold presence she'd found yesterday. That doorway to something vast and dark.
She spent the afternoon practicing.
Not the shadow-sensing yet — that required more energy than she had. Instead, she practiced smaller things. Controlling her face. Breathing through emotion. Responding to statements without revealing what she actually thought.
Kaelan played Wei. Then he played servants, Keepers, guards — all the people she might encounter in the coming months. He threw questions at her, searched for cracks in her composure, forced her to think on her feet.
It was exhausting. By evening, she could barely keep her eyes open.
"Enough," he said finally. "You need rest."
"I need to be better."
She sank onto her bed, muscles aching, mind buzzing. The ceiling stared back at her, unchanged, uncaring.
"Kaelan?"
"Yes?"
"Have you ever been inside someone before? Like this, I mean. Bound to them."
"No. Void-borns die too quickly. By the time I sense them, they're already fading. I've touched them — brief moments of connection before they dissolve"
"What's it like? For you?"
Silence. She felt him considering the question, deciding how to answer.
"Strange," he said finally. "Your body is small. Limited. You experience the world through such narrow channels — sight, sound, touch. My kind perceive things differently. More dimensionally. Being confined to your senses is like... like looking at the world through a crack in a door."
"That sounds frustrating."
"It was. At first." Another pause. "But there are compensations. I feel what you feel. Not just emotions — physical sensations. The warmth of sunlight. The texture of cloth. The taste of food." Something shifted in his voice, almost wonder. "I haven't experienced those things in millennia. I'd forgotten what they were like."
"So I'm useful to you."
"You're necessary to me. Those aren't the same thing."
She turned that over in her mind.
She closed her eyes. Let the exhaustion pull at her.
"Tomorrow," she murmured. "We start really planning."
"Tomorrow," he agreed. "Sleep now."
"Will you watch over me again?"
"Always," he said. "Whether you ask me to or not."
She fell asleep with the ribbon still wound around her fingers
In her dreams, she stood at the eastern wall.
Midnight. The gap in the guard rotation. Everything exactly as Wei had described.
But this time, she wasn't waiting for him.
This time, she walked through alone.
And when she looked back, the Quiet Wing was burning.
She woke with a smile on her face.