Slow. Measured. One step at a time.
The silver motes stirred. Not violently, but in warning, as if the air itself were watching him. Penelope’s fingers twitched at her sides, but she did not back away. If anything, she squared her stance further, lifting her chin in defiance.
He took another step. The floorboards creaked beneath his boots. Her gaze snapped down, as if tracking the sound, and then lifted again, sharp with suspicion.
“You’re awfully calm,” she said. “Considering I might explode.”
“You might,” Mingxi agreed.
Her brows rose.
“But you haven’t,” he continued. “And I trust your control more than you do.”
Penelope blinked, stunned for half a heartbeat before irritation rushed to replace it. “You don’t know me.”
“No,” he said, taking another slow step, “but I know power. I know fear. And I know you are standing rather than collapsing. That means something.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m standing because I can’t afford not to.”
“Exactly,” Mingxi murmured.
He was close. Still out of reach, still far enough not to invade her space, but near enough to feel her magic brushing the air like the dust of a moth’s wing. It was raw. Messy. Young. And worst of all, it hurt.
He felt the ache radiating from her skin, silent and clenched, held together by stubbornness alone.
Penelope swallowed hard. Her voice cracked, and he could tell it was not from weakness but from strain. “If you’re going to assess something, then assess it. I’m not going to fall apart.”
“You already are,” Mingxi said quietly. “You are simply refusing to show it.”
Her breath hitched, not quite a gasp and not quite a sob. She snarled instead, a tiny, furious sound.
“Stop talking like you know me.”
“Then let me know you,” Mingxi replied. “For your safety, and for mine.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she did not tell him to leave. She did not move away. She stared at him, trembling with exhaustion and anger, daring him to flinch first.
Mingxi bent down. Not submissive. Not patronizing. Simply leveling himself so he was not looming, so she could look him in the eyes without having to defend herself from height and shadow.
“Lady Penelope,” he said quietly, “I am going to reach out. I will not touch you. Only the air around you. If your magic reacts, I will stop.”
Her throat bobbed. “Fine.”
His hand lifted, just a breath above the floor, fingers open. The silver around her shivered. Penelope inhaled sharply. He felt the tremor ripple through the resonance—grief, fury, terror, love, trauma all tangled together. Beneath was something older.
Something moonlit.
Something waking.
He exhaled slowly. “There you are,” he whispered. “Now we can begin.”
Mingxi lifted his hand, slow and controlled, reaching only for the air around her. The silver motes quivered. Penelope’s breath hitched once before she steadied herself, jaw tightening visibly.
Then… BANG.
The door slammed into the wall.
A Guardian burst inside, armor glowing faintly with ward-light, sword half drawn.
