The knife-fish door shut behind them and Seven Stones went back to pretending it didn't care who lived or died inside its rooms.
They didn't speak in the lane. Speech traveled there. Longzi set the pace toward the river, not fast, not slow, the gait of men who had already decided how this would end.
By the time they reached the palace, dawn had stopped arguing with the eaves.
Steam rose from the laundry court; Aunt Ping's broom sounded like the first sensible law of the day.
In the inner hall, Shadow thumped his tail once—roll call acknowledged—and padded ahead to clear the way without ceremony.
Xinying didn't sit.
