Chapter 5
Moon-silver residue shimmered faintly along the threshold, delicate as dust caught in starlight. This was where it happened. This was where someone had shed a single tear and awakened something sleeping in her blood.
A tear. A flare. Then pulses, echoes, waves of magic that shook the leyline. Mingxi felt the afterimage of it: grief not for the bodies, but for something older, deeper. Someone she loved.
He reached for the nursery door and froze.
A voice, soft and trembling, utterly broken, drifted through the crack. “Mother and Father are dead,” the woman whispered. “And I can’t help but wish it were me so I could be with you again.”
Mingxi’s pulse stilled.
“I miss you so much, Lysandra. They sent me away after you died, and I don’t know how I’ve kept breathing.”
Her voice cracked, grief sharpening into venom. “They deserved what happened to them. They deserved worse. If only someone had done this kindness before…” Then softer. Smaller. Shattered. “Before you died.”
Mingxi’s heart clenched as the leyline trembled in answer. He pushed the nursery door open with slow, deliberate care.
Silver motes drifted through the air from the earlier flare, glowing faintly in the moonlight filtering through the window. The room lay in complete disarray, curtains torn, small toys scattered, a chair overturned. At the center of the chaos stood a young woman.
Lady Penelope Sinclair.
Her ash-brown hair hung in disordered waves. He assumed her dress was creased and stained from forcing her way through the carnage below. Her posture was rigid, shoulders squared, one hand braced lightly behind her, as if shielding something on the floor. Her eyes were red-rimmed but steady. Sharp.
She faced him head-on. No shrinking. No trembling. Just anger and exhaustion stitched together in human form.
“Oh,” she said, her voice scraped raw and edged with acid. “So now help arrives.”
Mingxi stopped just inside the threshold.
Her lips curved into a humorless half-smile. “A little late, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Mingxi said simply. “I am.”
Her brows lifted, surprise flickering beneath the bitterness. “At least you’re honest,” she muttered.
Mingxi’s posture remained relaxed but centered, the stance of someone approaching dangerous magic or a wounded creature with teeth.
“Lady Penelope,” he said evenly, “I am Councilor Shen Mingxi. I am here to protect you.”
“Protect me?” Penelope barked a hollow laugh. “My entire family is dead. Your chance passed a long time ago.”
“The threat may still be present,” Mingxi replied.
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, is it? Because from where I’m standing, the only threat is the man with tails who walked into my nursery.”
Mingxi did not rise to the bait.
“If I intended harm,” he said calmly, “I would not have entered so slowly.”
She paused, jaw tightening, clearly not convinced but not dismissing it either.
Silver motes stirred along the edges of the room, drawn toward her with each surge of emotion. Mingxi’s gaze flicked to them. Her magic was raw. Unstable. He remained perfectly still.
“Your magic is awakened and agitated,” he said softly. “I need to ensure it is not harming you.”
“And if I refuse?” she countered.
“Then I will stay where I am,” he said, “until the threat passes.”
Penelope blinked once, a slow descent of her lashes, before staring at him again. She had clearly not expected patience or anything from him except orders. Her posture wavered for a breath, not collapsing, just shifting as if exhaustion had seeped into the cracks.
Her voice dropped low, bitter and unbearably tired. “What’s wrong with me?”
Mingxi exhaled. “Nothing,” he said gently but firmly. “I came here to help you understand your awakening.”
She did not look away. She did not retreat. She watched him with fierce, wounded steadiness.
After what felt like an eternity, she spoke. “Then come closer.”