The city was already asleep when Ren lay back in bed.
He had meant to stay awake, to think, to demand answers from Li Wei tomorrow—but the moment he closed his eyes, warmth curled up from the mark on his shoulder.
The darkness folded in on itself, turning to silver mist once more.
And then he felt it—arms circling his waist from behind, a familiar breath against his neck.
"Ren," Li Wei's voice was low, rough with something that sounded like pain. "You keep slipping away from me."
Ren didn't move. He could feel Li Wei's heartbeat against his back, too real for a dream.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered. "You said this was dangerous."
"I don't care." The words came out like a growl. "I lost you once. I won't lose you again."
The mist brightened, shimmering with the memories Ren had seen by the river. Li Wei's hands trembled where they rested on him; the serpent that had once destroyed kingdoms now clung to him as if afraid.
Ren turned, meeting those golden eyes. The usual arrogance was gone. Only fear, and longing.
"You're hurting me," Ren murmured, though his own fingers curled in Li Wei's sleeve.
"I'm hurting myself," Li Wei said. He drew Ren closer until their foreheads touched, breath mingling. "Every night I promise I'll stay away, and every night I break."
Ren's heart thudded against his ribs. "Why me?"
"Because you were the only one who ever saw me as more than a beast," Li Wei said, voice cracking. "Because you called my name when everyone else ran."
The world pulsed with their memories—flashes of ancient temples, moonlit rivers, the serpent's scales gleaming as Ren's past self reached out to him without fear.
Ren's throat tightened. He wanted to tell him to stop, but the ache in Li Wei's eyes kept him silent.
So he let Li Wei hold him. Just that. The warmth was overwhelming, terrifying—and safe, all at once.
When Ren finally began to fade toward waking, Li Wei's whisper followed him:
> "No matter how many lives pass, I will always find you. Even if it burns me."