“We’ll need wood,” he said.
“We?” she echoed.
He arched a brow at her. “Yes. We. You are not exempt.”
“Hmph. I’ve never camped before.”
“I know.” A small smile. “Tonight, you will learn.”
She tried to look unimpressed but failed, following him to collect branches and cedar bark. Mingxi moved steadily but not effortlessly. Poppy noticed the way his breath tightened each time he bent or lifted with his injured shoulder.
By the time they returned to the clearing, the last strips of daylight had vanished behind the ridge. Night settled fully, the bamboo only a memory behind them, replaced by towering cedars and the sharp scent of cold water.
Mingxi knelt to stack wood, movements steady and competent. Poppy watched him for a moment and then realized it truly was just the two of them. No chaperones. Last night had been different; she hadn’t thought of them being truly alone. His wound and fever made it impossible to do anything more than keep watch and worry.
A strange flutter tightened her chest.
She shook it off—sat near the circle of stones, pulling the nine-tailed fox pouch into her lap. She traced one of the embroidered tails as Mingxi coaxed flame to life, sparks catching, embers blooming.
When the fire finally flared, gold light spilled across his face—sharp jaw, high cheekbones, warm amber eyes reflecting the flames. For a moment, he looked almost… ethereal.
He glanced up at her.
“You’re quiet,” he observed.
“So are you.”
He huffed a soft breath—almost a laugh. “We can be quiet together.”
She didn’t know why that made something inside her loosen, but it did. They sat in silence for a while—companionship without pressure, warmth without weight—until Poppy became aware of how still the world had become.
The night held its breath around them.
Suddenly, she felt the heat of the fire and the colder heat of Mingxi’s gaze as he clearly checked her posture, her breathing, the faint tremor in her fingers. Protective. Watchful. A little too aware.
Her pulse stumbled, so she looked away first.
“You’re staring,” she murmured.
Mingxi didn’t deny it. “Making sure you’re all right.”
“I am.”
He hummed, clearly unconvinced, but he let it go. The fire crackled. A gust of wind swept through the clearing, catching Poppy’s hair and curling it into her face. Mingxi leaned forward, and for a heartbeat, she thought he meant to brush it away.
He did not.
He pulled back, as if he’d caught himself, and then cleared his throat before poking at the fire instead.
“Do foxborn always guard people this… closely?” she asked lightly.
His voice, when it came, was low. “No.” He paused. “Only the ones who matter.”
The words were simple. Unadorned. Dangerously sincere.
Poppy felt her heart stutter painfully, so she stared into the flames for distraction.
“Do I matter?”
