Mingxi clenched his jaw. He had no right to touch her unless she sought it. No right at all. But gods, the softness in his chest—he didn’t know what to do with it.
It frightened him more than anything he had ever faced before. Because he had felt devotion before—duty, loyalty, responsibility. He had felt grief, loss, fury. But this—this quiet ache, this careful yearning—this was something his training hadn’t prepared him for.
He let his hand hover for a breath over hers, not quite touching.
She is not mine, he reminded himself with the sternness of a commander.She is not mine, and she does not belong to this world, and tomorrow, fate may take her from me.
Yet even knowing that… he stayed. He watched over her. He listened to every breath she took, counting them as if that might tether her here, keep her safe, keep her alive through what was coming.
“Sleep,” he murmured in a voice she would never hear. “Sleep while you still can.”
The moon rose higher. The waters glowed brighter, and Mingxi—unyielding, disciplined—sat utterly still, guarding the girl who had become the one thing in the world he could not lose.
Chapter 68
Poppy woke to Mingxi watching her with a vigilance that wasn’t fear but something deeper—preparation, reverence, and sharpened awareness.
“We should start,” he said quietly. “The sun climbs, and we have much to prepare.”
Poppy nodded, rolling her shoulders. The moonlight essence on her skin shimmered. “Tell me what we need.”
Mingxi knelt at the well, dipping a shallow stone bowl into the glowing water. When he tipped it, the liquid didn’t behave like normal water—it clung, luminous and heavy with purpose.
“The moonwell boundary,” Mingxi said, “must be drawn before anything else.”
He poured a thin line of moonwater in a slow arc. It spread across the moss in a perfect, unbroken glow. The line did not soak into the earth. It shone where it lay, humming softly.
“This circle protects you,” he said. “The entity cannot cross it.”
Poppy peered over his shoulder, squinting. “Got it. Don’t ruin the glowing circle.”
A faint twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Correct.”
Two pale quartz pillars stood half shrouded in moss at the clearing’s edge, taller than Poppy and carved with faint fox-script sigils. They pulsed faintly, responding to her moonlit presence.
Mingxi brushed the moss aside.
“These will amplify what you call,” he explained. “One behind you. One behind the Grimoire.”
She gave a low whistle. “Those things humming because of me?”
“Because the moonwell recognizes you,” he corrected. “Your resonance is… direct.”
“That sounds like a polite way of saying alarming.”
“I would never insult you,” he said, voice dry. “Even unintentionally.”
Mingxi unsheathed his blade. Foxfire flickered along the metal—not a flame, but a thin gold aura that made the edges shimmer. He pressed the blade flat against the Grimoire. The book pulsed once, sharply, before settling.
“This seal prevents the entity from attacking prematurely,” Mingxi said. “Or sending revenants to retrieve the Grimoire.”
Poppy’s eyebrows shot up. “Good thinking.”
Mingxi’s gaze shifted to her satchel.
“The cleansing requires an anchor,” he said quietly. “Not magic. Not blood. Something personal. Something willingly given.”
Poppy hesitated before reaching into her satchel. Her fingers closed around something small, soft, and frayed. A pale blue ribbon. Once tied around a doll’s wrist. Once looped around Poppy’s own when she was five. Once knotted carefully by Lysandra because Poppy had cried when it unraveled.
