The healer blinked at them, patient.
Poppy cleared her throat, mortified. “S-sorry. I didn’t—”
“No,” Mingxi said softly, “that was me.”
Their eyes met. A spark passed between them—quiet, warm, unmistakable.
The healer, to her eternal credit, pretended to see absolutely none of it.
After a heartbeat of hesitation, Poppy released his hand. Slowly. Too slowly. Mingxi’s fingers slid from hers, the absence of warmth immediate.
“Thank you,” the healer said politely, as if she hadn’t just witnessed the slowest, most reluctant hand separation in clan history. Or so Poppy assumed.
The healer took Poppy’s wrist between her palms, reading the pulse with magic and touch.
“Steady. Strong. Her energy is replenishing.” She looked up, smiling softly. “Rest will finish what healing has begun.”
Mingxi inclined his head, composed again—except his gaze flicked once, almost involuntarily, back to Poppy’s hand. The one he’d been holding.
The healer bowed and then said, “I will return later.”
As she slid the doors closed behind her, Poppy exhaled.
Mingxi’s voice was quiet. “You did not have to let go.”
Her breath caught. “Mingxi—”
He looked away, but not before she saw the gold brightening in his eyes.
“But I would never hold you if you wished otherwise,” he said.
The words hung between them—soft, dangerous, tender.
Poppy swallowed. “I didn’t wish otherwise.”
Mingxi’s breath hitched—just slightly. He didn’t reach for her again, but his hand rested on the cushion between them, close enough that if she moved even an inch… their fingers would touch.
“You should rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up,” Mingxi said.
Poppy nodded, exhaustion dragging at her bones. She tugged the blankets up to her chin and fell asleep almost instantly—too fast for someone who had walked through the aftermath of a magical battle only hours before.
Mingxi remained beside her.
He didn’t understand her. Most humans who had survived even a brush with something like the entity’s power shook for days. Guardians who’d faced revenants lost sleep for weeks. But Poppy…
Poppy had stood among the ruins of her family’s finale with unsettling composure. She had stared at blood-scorched walls as though they were an old memory finally matching something inside her.
Even more unsettling—she had awakened her magic to protect him without hesitation. That was not the reaction of a traumatized girl. That was instinct. That was power. That was destiny unfolding before him.
Mingxi sat on the cushion beside her bed, folding his tails close to keep their warmth from spilling into the room. The lantern burned low, casting soft gold light across Poppy’s face as she slept—peacefully, impossibly peacefully.
Hours passed.
He didn’t move.
Every so often Poppy flinched in her sleep—tiny shifts, fingers curling as though reaching for someone just out of reach. Beneath her pillow, the Grimoire pulsed faintly, responding to her dreams.
Mingxi leaned forward.
