Murong Wuque stayed wide awake. His body didn’t need sleep to function. Cultivation had long since burned that mortal weakness from his bones, but he’d made it a habit because of Alvin. He couldn’t understand the reason Alvin kept blowing hot and cold, yanking him from scorching hope to arctic doubt until he questioned the very shape of his own heart. Unable to find rest, he stood, rolled the tension from his shoulders until his neck gave a low, brittle pop, and pulled his laptop from the workstation. An enormous backlog of commitments waited for him like a line of kneeling supplicants, and he began to deal with them one by one. After coming to Earth, he’d established businesses that grew like wildfire, becoming one of the most feared underground powers in less than a decade. He manufactured elixirs that could knit a shattered dantian overnight, miracle drugs that dragged the dying back by their collars, and clothes woven with defensive arrays so fine they could shrug off a snip

Alvin picked up his phone, his fingers hovering over the number he had on speed dial. The screen lit his face, stark and pale. Memories of the past two days flashed before his eyes. The grainy footage, the coat, the betrayal that might not be. He groaned, lowering the phone onto the table like it weighed a hundred pounds. He rested his head on the desk and began to knock his forehead against it, continually, a dull, rhythmic thud. Frustration wasn’t half as bad as shame. Having to call his suspected enemy to come watch the child was taking a toll on him, grinding him down bone by bone. Pride had a taste, and it was bitter. Aurelio made a little sound from the swinging basket where Alvin had placed him in the study as he paced. He stood up and pocketed his phone, then grabbed the child, tucking him against his chest like a shield. After locking the study securely…three bolts, two wards…he made his way to his room, each step heavier than the last. “Should we call that stupid Icema

The cry of a baby pierced the fog in his mind, thin and sharp, yanking him back from the gray place between sleeping and drowning. His ear focused, instinct overriding exhaustion, trying to decipher the sound. Was it hunger, fear, or loneliness? Realizing where he was, his eyes snapped open and went straight to the cot, heart hammering once, hard. There was nothing threatening close to the cot. No shadow. No cold draft. No blade. Just Aurelio, small fists waving in the air like he could summon his father by will. Aurelio must have noticed he was alone and wondered why no one was coming to get him, or if he got forgotten— left behind the way children always were in the end. Perhaps it was his way of calling back Murong Wuque, whose mind was foggy and about to drift away while soaking in an overflowing tub with the real, stupid risk of drowning. One breath of water. One moment of letting go. Murong Wuque stretched his neck until it cracked, then his arm. The wound on his arm was h