Cold rain hammered the slate tiles of the abandoned stone pavilion overlooking Mist Creek, the steady, rhythmic drumming masking the rush of swollen mountain runoff below.
A thick bank of white fog drifted off the water, swallowing the mossy granite steps and curling around the stone pillars like a cold shroud.
Ye Chen stepped out of the tree line with silent, measured strides, his heavy broadsword resting securely against the back of his gray tunic.
Inside the drafty pavilion, Lin Xi stood near the open western archway, wrapped in flowing white silk robes that caught the damp mountain wind.
She turned her head as his boots touched the stone platform, her dark eyes sharp beneath the shadow of the roof.
She did not offer a formal greeting.
She reached into the inner lining of her whit
