At dawn, Laurel's eyes opened slowly. The softness in her gaze was gone, replaced by a quiet, distant coldness as Ling Xuan took control of the body. For a brief moment, she remained still, her gaze fixed ahead as the memory of the previous night surfaced uninvited, clear and stubborn in a way she did not appreciate.
No matter how she tried to dismiss it, it refused to fade into something insignificant like everything else she had long learned to ignore.
She sat up gradually. Her thoughts drifted back to the moment that should have meant nothing to her, yet lingered in a way that made her expression tighten ever so slightly, as she recalled the weakness in Laurel's grip, the way her fingers had clung to her clothes without strength yet refused to let go, and the way her body had leaned forward as if she had nothing else to support herself with, as though that fragile hold was the only thing keeping her from collapsing completely.
