Rain still glazed the campus tiles when Ren climbed the stairwell to the deserted rooftop.
He needed air—space—anything to quiet the echo of the exorcist's warning.
But when he pushed open the metal door, Li Wei was already there, leaning against the rail, drenched gold eyes waiting.
Ren froze. "You heard what he said."
Li Wei's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I hear many things. Which lie troubles you most?"
Ren's chest tightened. "That I died because of you. That this—" he touched the faint mark at his neck "—isn't love at all, it's a curse."
Wind whipped between them, carrying the smell of wet iron. Li Wei moved closer until the railing pressed against Ren's back. His hand came up, not rough but steady, palm resting beside Ren's face.
"If I were your curse," he murmured, "would your soul keep finding me every lifetime?"
Ren wanted to argue, but Li Wei's gaze caught him, molten and aching. "You don't get to decide that I forget," Ren whispered. "I need to know the truth."
"The truth," Li Wei said, voice low, "is that the heavens tried to tear us apart once, and they failed."
Ren's breath hitched. The air between them burned hotter than the rain. Li Wei leaned in, their foreheads almost touching. The tension broke in a rush; Ren grabbed at his sleeve, half-angry, half-desperate.
Li Wei caught his wrist and pressed a fleeting kiss to the pulse there—slow, claiming, a promise more than an act. "No one," he said against his skin, "can sever our chain."
Ren's heart hammered. He hated that the words made part of him tremble in want instead of fear.
Far below, thunder rolled again, swallowing the last of their voices.