The lamp burned low.
Its flame trembled in the darkness, casting faint golden light across the small hut. The shadows stretched long, and the warmth between them was the only thing that seemed to keep the night from turning completely cold.
They lay side by side, skin to skin beneath the rough linen blanket, their bodies molded together as if they had always been this way.
Zhao Yan's chest rose and fell steadily, but Hua Jing's eyes remained open.
She turned slightly on the mat, resting her cheek against her hand, watching the faint silhouette of his face in the dying lamplight. His brows were relaxed. His lips slightly parted. His features softened in sleep, but even now, there was a tension buried deep in the line of his jaw.
He looked peaceful.
But not at peace.
Her fingers traced a gentle path across the edge of his arm, and after a moment, his eyes opened.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, voice husky from rest.
