The moon had climbed high, no longer veiled by branches or drifting mist. Silver spilled across the clearing, pooling around the moonwell like liquid breath. Poppy stood very still, the last traces of moonwater drying on her skin. She felt lighter and heavier all at once—awake in a way she had never been, aware of every beat of her heart, every shift in the air.
She could feel Mingxi watching her with an intensity that wasn’t worry but something deeper—calculation, reverence, readiness.
He exhaled slowly. “That’s enough for tonight.”
Poppy startled. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” His voice gentled immediately. “You did everything right. Too right. If we push further, your magic will burn you out before the battle even begins.”
She blinked at the word. “Battle?”
His expression softened but did not falter. “Yes. But not tonight.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but the moonwell’s glow flickered across her. She swayed slightly, but enough for him to step in.
“You’re exhausted,” he murmured. “Drained. Moon intoxicated. And”—his gaze dipped to her trembling fingers—“still leaking magic like a cracked lantern.”
Poppy blinked at her own hands. A faint shimmer leaked between her fingertips like tiny drops of silver dew.
“Oh. That’s new.”
“It will fade with rest,” he said softly. “If you try to work sigils now, the moonwell’s blessing will unravel you.”
She wilted. “Fine. Rest it is.”
“Good,” he whispered.
Her eyes lifted, still glowing faintly, still soft with magic haze. “Was it… really that bad?”
Mingxi swallowed, and his voice lowered. “You terrified me.”
Poppy’s breath caught. “Why?”
He stepped closer, slow, as if approaching a sacred flame that might scorch him for daring.
“Because I watched you glow like something born of moonlight,” he said. “And I realized the entity will feel that power. It will sense you. It will come.”
She reached for his hand—shaky, glowing, brave. “You’ll be there.”
He closed his eyes for a heartbeat and then whispered, “I will, but tonight… I just need you safe. I need you here.” His voice roughened. “I need you close enough that I know you’re breathing.”
Poppy blinked up at him, dazed and honest. “Is that your way of asking to hold me?”
He went still. “I—”
She giggled, leaning dangerously sideways. He caught her around the waist before she hit the moss.
“Mingxi,” she whispered, leaning into his chest, “I’m moon drunk. And tired. And cold. So unless the fox clan has rules against cuddling—”
“There are no rules,” he said instantly.
“Oh, good.” She sighed, already drifting into him. “Then hold me.”
The request shattered him.
He gathered her gently—one arm under her knees, the other anchoring her against his chest. Foxfire curled around his hands, drying the last of the moonwater from her skin as she nestled into him with a soft, contented hum.
They walked toward the shelter beneath the trees, the moonwell glowing behind them like a quiet witness.
