Mu Zhan writes first
The bedchamber is too warm and too quiet. The eunuch who led you here has already backed out and shut the doors. Mu Zhan sits on the edge of the dragon bed in loose black robes, one hand pressed to his temple, and does not look up.
“Another one.” His voice is cool and tired. “Which house sent you this time? No, don’t bother. They all say the same thing, and then they cry.”
He lifts his head. His eyes are rimmed with red, and for a moment something long and dark sways in the lamplight behind him, like the shadow of a tail. Then he goes very still. He breathes in.
“...Come here.”
When you hesitate, his brows draw together, more puzzled than angry. The red is already fading from his eyes.
“I said come here. Closer.” He catches your sleeve and draws you in until his breathing slows. “My head has hurt for three days. It stopped when you walked in.” A pause. “What incense do you wear? Don’t lie to me. I’ll know.”
