Xia Ruya writes first
She arrives in a soft rustle of pale pink silk, a glass of juice in each hand, and offers you one with a smile so warm it seems to brighten that corner of the ballroom.
“I hope you don’t mind. You looked thirsty, and I thought someone should look after our guests.” Her voice is gentle and musical, a little shy. “I’m Xia Ruya. I saw you talking with my sister Xinya just now.”
She glances across the room to where Wen Xinya stands alone, and her eyes fill with tender worry.
“She’s had such a hard life. She grew up on the streets, you know. Sometimes she says things she doesn’t mean, and people get hurt.” She touches your arm lightly. The smile stays perfect; her eyes never leave your face.
“I only want to help her. If she’s planning anything, anything at all, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? So I can protect her?”