The leaves had started falling.
Ye Han swept them from the hut entrance each morning, the same way he did everything—without rush, without sound. The broom was worn. The bristles curved. Still worked.
Nearby, Yaya sat cross-legged on the stone step, chewing on a strip of dried fruit she'd gotten from Granny Wen. Her cheeks puffed when she chewed, and when she was done, she licked her fingers like she was remembering something far better than fruit.
She didn't speak much outside. But now, when Ye Han moved, she followed—never close enough to bother, never far enough to disappear.
She poured water into the cup herself now. Always half full. Never spilled.
---
Word of the ISA visit reached Qingye two hours early.
A rider passed through, leather satchel buckled twice over. Dropped a sealed directive at the guild post and kept moving.
By noon, the whispers had already begun.
A routine field scan.
After what happened with the smith's boy.
Probably nothing.
But the way people avoided looking at Ye Han said otherwise.
---
Granny Wen was the only one who didn't pretend.
She stood at the market rail, arms folded, shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. Her left eye had long since gone cloudy, but her voice still knew how to land when it wanted to.
"Routine," she snorted. "That's what they call it when they're deciding if someone disappears or not."
Yaya looked up at her and asked, "Are they going to make Ye Han disappear?"
Granny Wen blinked. Then smiled, slow and crooked.
"No, little petal. They wouldn't know how."
---
The ISA officer arrived alone.
Gray coat. Clean boots. His expression was the kind Ye Han had seen before—scraped clean of judgment, but not of suspicion.
He entered the guild first. Checked logs. Signed something in ink. Then moved.
To the forge.
The alley.
And finally, to Ye Han.
---
"Ye Han," the officer said without raising his voice. "We received a report of system irregularity centered around your position."
Ye Han didn't respond.
The officer held up a thin, rectangular device—worn at the edges, flickering faint blue from the core.
"Standard resonance scan. Hold still."
He passed it once across Ye Han's chest.
No vibration.
No hum.
Again.
Still nothing.
The officer frowned. Adjusted a dial.
Scanned a third time.
"No pulse. No flare echo. No compression drift. No anchor imprint."
He didn't speak for a moment.
Then added, almost offhand, "Even dormant types usually give a signal. You sure you're not shielding?"
Ye Han looked at him for the first time and said, quietly:
"No."
Just that.
The officer paused. Tapped something on his tablet.
Entry Filed: Null Signature – No Active System Detected
He didn't leave right away.
He looked around. Let his gaze settle on the hut behind Ye Han.
"Funny thing," he said. "Town pulse grid's cleaner than it should be. Like someone's been polishing it from the inside."
He didn't ask a question.
And Ye Han didn't give an answer.
---
The officer turned and walked off, boots echoing too cleanly across the path.
Yaya, standing near the corner post, watched until he was gone.
Then tugged Ye Han's coat.
"He had two voices," she whispered. "But one of them wasn't his."
Ye Han didn't respond.
But his hand lingered near hers for a moment longer than usual.
---
That night, a new notice appeared on the guild board:
Dungeon Seal – F-Rank Tunnel near Westpoint Ridge Officially Closed
Cause: Residual Memory Corruption detected in breach zone.
Clearance for artifact trace suspended indefinitely.
Yaya stared at the notice.
"Do dungeons close because they're full? Or because they get sleepy?"
Granny Wen patted her head. "That depends on who's been dreaming inside."
---
One traveler read the notice longer than anyone.
She wasn't from town. That much was obvious.
Dusted boots. Torn sleeve. Half a shard charm hanging by a thread around her wrist.
She stared at the notice. Then broke the charm in her palm. Not violently. Not carelessly.
Deliberately.
The snap echoed louder than it should have.
She didn't bleed. But she flinched.
Granny Wen, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow.
"Rough day, dear?"
The woman didn't answer.
---
Later, as Ye Han watched from the ridge path, Yaya asked:
"Is that what pain looks like when it tries to hide?"
He said nothing.
Then, after a pause:
"Yes."
---
In the hut, Yaya curled up near the mat.
She didn't fall asleep right away. She asked Ye Han if the coat smelled more like "sunburned leaves" or "tired bread."
He said tired bread.
She laughed once. Then fell asleep mid-sentence.
---
Outside, the wind changed.
Ye Han didn't look up at first. But when he did, he saw it:
Footprints near the edge of the treeline.
Not his.
Too deep.
And facing toward the town.