The following morning, at Scarlet Apartments;
The morning light was soft, filtered through sheer curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the modest living room.
Luoyang stepped out of the guest room, one hand gently pressed beneath her rounded belly, the other bracing against the wall.
At thirty-five weeks, every movement demanded deliberation. Her ankles throbbed, her back ached faintly, and sleep had become a stranger that only visited in fragments.
Still, she moved silently, with grace that clung to her in every posture, even with the burden she carried.
Scarlet was already in the kitchen, hair tied up messily, wearing a loose sweater and leggings. T
he aroma of ginger, lemon, and a hint of mint lingered around the counter. She turned at the sound of Luoyang approaching and gave her a gentle smile.
"Morning, dear," she said, reaching into a cupboard. "Sit, I'll get you something warm."
