**The Wound and the Remedy** Hill’s fingers stilled mid-air, her delicate digits frozen like a pianist hesitating before the final, devastating chord. The moment her control over Jack’s body ceased, he crumpled to the floorboards with a heavy *thud*, his breath ragged, his cheeks mottled red and white from the self-inflicted sps. A thin line of saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, his pride as shattered as his reflection in the dust-coated windows.

  Qin Hong exhaled, the scent of aged wood and mildew filling his lungs. The cabin groaned around them, its timeworn beams protesting under the weight of neglect. He watched as Hill’s fingers—pale and slender, yet capable of bending flesh to her will—curled into loose fists before falling to her sides. Her eyes, amber and unreadable, flicked to him, and for a heartbeat, he saw something flicker in them—something that wasn’t just obedience, but *understanding*.

  "Mission stands," Qin Hong said, his voice low but carrying the weight of command. "Hill, Janis, Merkel—clean the house."

  Jack staggered to his feet, his boots scuffing the floor as he lurched toward the door. His knuckles were white where they gripped the frame, his shoulders hunched like a wounded animal retreating to lick its injuries. The door smmed behind him, shaking loose a fine shower of dust from the rafters.

  *And me?*

  Ilen’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and impatient. She had been standing near the firepce, one hand resting on her hip, the other tapping an erratic rhythm against the soot-stained brick. Her nails—manicured to a glossy sheen—clicked against the surface, each tap a punctuation mark to her growing irritation.

  Qin Hong turned to her, his lips quirking into a faint, knowing smile. "You’re with me," he said. "*Special assignment.*"

  The way her eyes narrowed—suspicious, intrigued—made something in his chest tighten.

  ---

  #### **The Walk of Whispers** The forest beyond the cabin was a living, breathing entity. The moment they stepped beneath the canopy, the air thickened, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something darker—something *sweetly rotten*, like overripe fruit left too long in the sun. The trees loomed overhead, their gnarled branches weaving a tticework of shadows that shifted with the wind. Sunlight, fractured and pale, filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the moss-choked path.

  Ilen’s boots—expensive, impractical—sank slightly into the soft ground with each step. She wrinkled her nose at the mud staining the leather but said nothing, her attention fixed on Qin Hong’s back as he led her deeper into the green gloom.

  "Where exactly are we—" she began, her voice ced with impatience.

  "How’d you get your powers?" Qin Hong interrupted, not turning around.

  She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Family money, obviously," she said, flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder. "You think *peasants* can afford Apostle Fruits?"

  "Ah." His smile was audible in his voice. "So all you ‘legacy recruits’ bought your way in."

  Ilen scoffed, reaching out to pluck a bde of vivid green grass from the undergrowth. She twirled it between her fingers, the motion idle, thoughtless. "Pretty much," she said. "Why? Jealous?"

  Then—

  "*Agh!*"

  The grass fell from her fingers as she clutched her hand to her chest. A thin, crimson line bisected her palm, welling fat droplets of blood that dripped onto the forest floor. The pain came a second ter—sharp, insistent—and her face crumpled. "*It hurts!*"

  Qin Hong turned, his expression shifting from amusement to weary resignation. "*Thornweed*," he said, crouching to examine the innocuous-looking pnt at their feet. "Should’ve watched where you grabbed."

  "*You think*—*hic*—*I care what it’s called?!*" Tears streaked her mascara, leaving inky tracks down her cheeks.

  He caught her wrist, his grip firm but not unkind. Her skin was warm under his fingers, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird. "Microscopic barbs," he expined, turning her hand to inspect the wound. "They inject numbing venom so you don’t feel it—until the toxin hits your bloodstream. Left untreated…" He trailed off meaningfully.

  "*Then fix it!*" she wailed, her voice cracking.

  Qin Hong hesitated. Then—with the grimace of a man stepping onto a battlefield—he unbuttoned his pants.

  Ilen’s sobs hiccuped to a stop. The pain in her hand *did* fade, repced by a warm, liquid sensation. Relief washed over her—until her brain caught up with what was happening.

  "*You’re*—*you’re*—" Her voice climbed three octaves. "*PEEING ON ME?!*"

  She yanked her hand back, flinging golden droplets into the undergrowth. The realization hit like a thundercp. She colpsed to her knees, a broken doll, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "*My hand… touched your…*"

  Qin Hong rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks faintly pink. "Urine dissolves Thornweed enzymes," he muttered. "You were screaming—I didn’t have time to expin."

  Ilen’s face cycled through shades of crimson. The image burned behind her eyelids: *Him. The arc of liquid. The—*

  Then Qin Hong was kneeling beside her, pressing a clean handkerchief to her wound. His scent enveloped her—pine resin and salt, the musk of hard training. Her breath hitched. Without thinking, she leaned in—

  And kissed him.

  His lips were chapped. Warm. *Alive*.

  For three heartbeats, the forest held its breath. Then Ilen’s arms were around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair—

  ---

  #### **The Ghosts of Bridges Burned** Half a world away, *Youhang* found Guann by the keside, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The water mirrored the snow-capped peaks beyond, a perfect, untouchable tableau. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of burning tobacco and the mineral tang of the ke.

  "The elders are… *agitated*," Youhang said, accepting the proffered cigarette.

  Guann exhaled a smoke ring, watching as it dissipated into the cold air. "Let me guess," he said, his voice ft. "‘Hurry up.’ ‘Collect more fruits.’"

  Youhang’s silence was confirmation. Then—

  "They want to reconnect the *Arkate-Vennos transit conduits*."

  The cigarette stilled between Guann’s fingers. A vein pulsed at his temple, the only outward sign of the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

  *Click*.

  The lighter fme trembled in Youhang’s grip.

  "*They* sealed those conduits," Guann said softly, his voice dangerously quiet. "During the *World Tree Siege*. Left *Polos* to die without reinforcements." His knuckles whitened around the cigarette. "And now they want to pretend it never happened?"

  The ke’s surface shattered as a fish broke through—a fleeting violence, gone as quickly as it came.

  Youhang said nothing. Some wounds never scarred.