Gray dawn filtered through the thin safe-house curtains, cool and muted. Poppy stood with her back to the tiny window, arms loosely folded, watching Mingxi check the bandage at his ribs.
He moved carefully, controlled even in pain, but he swayed a little too much.
She stepped forward—not touching, not grabbing, just close enough that he could lean on her if he needed to. He did not. But they stood there anyway.
Breaths mingling. Bodies not touching but separated by an inch that felt deliberate. Mingxi’s fox-spirit heat radiated off him. Warming not scorching, just warm in a way that made the cold room feel suddenly small.
He exhaled once, steadying himself. “Poppy.”
Something in her chest tightened. After everything—the blood, the entity, the dances, the safe house where she’d cleaned his wound with her own hands—she realized she didn’t want that distance anymore.
She swallowed, surprised at how soft her voice sounded. “Yes, Mingxi.”
Mingxi froze, not with shock, but with something like reverence. His eyes softened, gold flickering like candlelight through amber.
He said it slowly, with care. “Poppy? That’s an unusual nickname.”
She smiled, small and private. “My sister couldn’t say poppet when she was little. It always came out as Poppy.”
“Poppy. It’s beautiful,” The sound of her name in his voice felt like the brush of moonlight across skin. Unexpected. Gentle. Dangerously sincere.
But then something slipped from him. Something deeper than language. Unguarded. Instinctive. “Mèihua…”
Her breath caught.
It wasn’t English. It wasn’t formal. It was intimate.
“What did you call me?” she whispered.
Mingxi’s jaw tightened. He looked away, rare for him, clearly struggling with a flush of real emotion.
“That was… unintentional.”
“What does it mean?”
“A blossom.” He paused and then quietly said, “An entrancing one. Hidden beauty. The kind that only reveals itself when someone truly looks.”
Her cheeks warmed before she could stop it. The room, small as it was, suddenly felt too intimate.
“Say it again,” she whispered, a request she didn’t entirely understand.
He stepped closer, just enough that the heat of him brushed her skin, and then breathed, “Mèihua.” Then, softer, his voice edged with something he clearly didn’t intend to reveal. “My bewitching flower.”
The air between them trembled.
Then a Guardian knocked at the door, shattering the moment like fragile glass. They both stepped back, too quickly, too sharply, as if the closeness had been fire.
But the word lingered in the room, warm and glowing, refusing to fade.
Chapter 30
A sharp knock cut through the thin quiet of the morning. Rowan stepped inside without waiting for permission, cloak damp with London fog, jaw set with clipped purpose.
“Both of you, up,” he said. “The Council wants you moved.”
Poppy rose immediately, daggers at her sides. “Moved? Already?”
“Too many eyes marked you at the Winter’s End Ball,” Rowan replied. “Half the aristocracy noticed who arrived together. Then you vanished. We don’t know who’s asking questions yet, or how quickly speculation is spreading, but the Council wants you relocated to a quieter district.”
