“You don’t have to pretend with me,” she murmured.
His breath hitched. Barely. But she felt it.
For a moment, they stood there, close enough that she could sense the heat radiating from him—too much heat. Fever heat. Her worry sharpened.
“Mingxi… you’re worse than you’re letting on.”
A faint exhale escaped him, a quiet surrender. “Only a little.”
She gave him a look.
He revised, “Possibly more than a little.”
Despite her worry, Poppy huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Come on,” she said gently. “We’ll rest soon.”
He nodded, the motion small but trusting.
They resumed walking until the sky deepened fully into evening, shadows lengthening like spilled ink.
By the time they reached a small clearing beneath a cedar, the world had gone still—too still. No wind. No insects. No breath from the forest at all.
Mingxi’s step faltered. He masked it admirably. He almost hid it from her. Almost.
“Mingxi—”
“It is nothing,” he said, but his voice had thinned, breath hitching faintly.
He moved toward a fallen log, as if to sit, but his knee buckled. Poppy lunged forward instinctively, sliding under his arm to catch him before he hit the ground. For a heartbeat, he just stared at her—disoriented, startled by her quickness, or perhaps by the idea that she’d move toward him instead of away.
“Easy,” she murmured. “Sit.”
He obviously let her guide him down. Not gracefully, but without protest. His breath trembled, warm against the cold air.
“You’re burning up,” she said.
“It is a small fever.”
“It’s a large wound.”
He huffed a weak laugh. “Perhaps.”
“Mingxi,” she pressed, kneeling beside him, “you’re shaking.”
He closed his eyes, and she could see the exhaustion pulling at the edges of his composure. “Revenant strikes are poisoned with death-magic. Even four tails cannot counter such corruption immediately.”
“Then you shouldn’t be pushing yourself,” she whispered.
“I must. We are on a timetable.”
“And you bleeding and passing out won’t help either of us.”
He startled faintly, but enough for her to register, and then let his head fall back against the cedar. “I trust you to keep us moving,” he murmured. “For a little while.”
The words slipped out so softly she wasn’t sure he meant to speak them.
Poppy’s chest tightened. “Then let me help you.”
His eyes opened—dark, dazed, unguarded. “Why?” he asked quietly.
