Rain had slowed to a whisper, a soft drizzle tracing silver lines through the cracked windows of the old tea house. The air inside was warm but heavy, steeped in the scent of over-brewed leaves and damp wood.
A small table sat in the corner, its surface scarred with burn marks that formed shapes almost like constellations.
Sunny sat on one side, dripping from the rain, his eyes fixed on the ancient map between them. Shen Luò, silent as ever, occupied the other chair — his black coat darkened by the weather, silver embroidery shimmering faintly in the flickering lantern light.
They had barely spoken since leaving the rain-soaked street. Outside, the city's uneven clocks ticked out of sync, but inside the tea house, time felt even stranger… slower, like it was dragging its feet.
Sunny finally broke the silence.
"Your bounty… it's not for something simple, is it?"
Shen Luò's eyes lifted — deep, dark, unreadable. "No crime is ever simple. But I'm not here to justify mine."
His voice was calm, but something in the way he said it left a cold trace in the air.
Sunny leaned forward. "The mission I'm on — I thought it was just about finding a way past the Gate. But there's something else… something pulling threads I can't see."
Shen Luò glanced at the map, his gaze narrowing. "Then you're already part of it."
The rain outside shifted, slowing even more… until the droplets seemed to hang in the air. The hum of the tea house fell silent. Every sound faded, every movement dulled — except for one.
From the dim reflection in the puddle outside the window, a figure stepped forward.
The kid.
He wasn't in the tea house, not really — not in the way normal people were. Yet Sunny could see him in the table's reflection, standing between them.
His face was pale, lips pressed tight. His eyes, wide and unsteady, searched the space like he was looking for something he had already lost.
It was the expression of someone cornered by fate — someone with no other choice left.
His small hands trembled as he reached into his coat. Without a word, he placed something on the map.
A key. Old, blackened by age, its teeth carved in strange, jagged shapes.
Sunny's heart pounded. Shen Luò hadn't moved, but his gaze was locked on the reflection. For the first time since they'd met, a flicker of something — not anger, not sadness, but fear — crossed his face.
The kid's lips moved, soundless.
Sunny couldn't hear him… but somehow, in his mind, the words formed anyway:
"He is not who you think he is."
And then — the puddle rippled, and the boy was gone.
The rain began to fall again. Time resumed.
Shen Luò's hand hovered over the key, but he didn't touch it.
"Where did you get this?" Sunny asked.
Shen Luò didn't answer.
Outside, the storm deepened.