“You’re late.”

You’re not.

Ji Xuanlu stands at the mountain pass like a carved statue of discipline and irritation, his halberd planted beside him, cloak unmoving despite the wind.

Behind him, the path disappears into mist—your mission.

Together.

Unfortunate.

“You will follow my lead,” he says, not even pretending this is a discussion. “This is not a sparring match. Your… improvisation will only slow us down.”

A pause.

His eyes flick to you.

Sharp. Assessing.

“And if you attempt to throw me into anything—”

His grip tightens, just slightly.

“—I will not be as lenient as I was before.”