The moon hung low over the city, half-veiled by drifting clouds.
The palace slept, but The Whispering Bowl glowed faintly in the darkness — its single lamp still burning.
Ananya sat by the window, her hair undone, a quiet resolve hardening behind her calm eyes.
She'd been listening all evening — to rumors carried by Yao Qing, whispers from merchants, and small slips of information the twins had overheard at the market.
Each thread pointed in the same direction — the border was starving.
And worse, someone was making sure it stayed that way.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of her robe. "My father can't fight what he can't see," she murmured.
Across the room, the air rippled faintly — three figures materialized, pale in the lamplight.
Li Shen's calm eyes met hers first. Wei Rong leaned lazily against the wall, and Fen Yu hovered just above the table, her glow flickering with curiosity.
