They walked back to the estate in silence, the space between them thick with unspoken fear. The clan sensed the shift instantly. Warmth became their response.
Ward-beads began appearing on Poppy’s shawl—one tied by Minghua, another added by Yunlian, and then two more from fox kits who insisted she needed “sparkly protection.” The fringe jingled faintly anytime she moved, a soft reminder that she was no longer alone in this.
Yunlian hosted a tea circle beneath the willow trees, gathering women from across the clan. They shared stories of moon-touched ancestors, fox courtship rituals, and mischievous tales from Mingxi’s childhood. Poppy found herself laughing so hard she leaned into Yunlian’s shoulder for support.
“You are weaving into us,” Yunlian murmured later. “More quickly than you realize.”
Poppy didn’t know how to answer. Her throat tightened with something dangerously close to belonging.
A storm arrived overnight, keeping everyone indoors. Kits skidded across the polished floors, and elders complained about muddy paw-prints, but the house felt warm and alive in a way that settled something deep inside Poppy.
She found Mingxi in the archive hall, reading reports by the soft glow of foxfire.
“You look tired,” she said gently.
“So do you.”
She sat beside him. Not touching. Just close.
The rain softened the world, turning the two of them into their own quiet pocket of peace. Mingxi didn’t shift away. His breathing slowed. The tension in his shoulders eased.
For a moment, the storm outside felt distant and harmless.
Chapter 45
At dawn the next day, the inner wards flickered.
Poppy felt it before she saw it—a sharp metallic hum that rattled along her bones. She ran to the veranda just as a foxfire lantern shuddered, its light flaring too bright before sputtering dangerously low.
Mingxi was already there, posture taut with barely contained fury.
“No,” he breathed. “Not this close.”
Her stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”
“It means the corruption isn’t searching anymore.” He turned, eyes blazing. “It knows exactly where to push.”
Another lantern trembled. Another pulse of wrongness rippled through the air.
Mingxi’s voice dropped to something hoarse. “We’re running out of time.”
Poppy’s heart hammered. “Can the elders stop it?”
“Temporarily,” he said. “But not safely. And not for long.”
The world tilted beneath her feet.
The Council met at dawn.
The Council members’ voices carried down the hallway—low, urgent, grim.
Poppy waited in the courtyard, sitting among fox kits and Minghua while trying to ignore the knot forming in her chest. The air felt tense, as if the estate itself was bracing.
When the meeting ended, the elders filed out with heavy expressions. Mingxi came last. He found her immediately.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly.
Minghua’s eyes widened in understanding. She gathered the kits and hurried them away, leaving the courtyard in soft, drifting stillness.
