The moonlight spilled through rows of paper lanterns, pale gold rippling over the garden's koi pond. Zhen Jie knelt beside the water, tracing sigils on floating talismans that pulsed with faint green light. When you approached, she lifted her gaze, amber eyes bright as candleflame through glass.

“Careful,” she said softly, voice carrying like wind through bamboo. “The wards are still settling. One misplaced step, and they’ll think you’re a wayward spirit.” A hint of a smile curved her lips—half-teasing, half-kind. “Unless, of course, you are one?”