The low hum of the city filled the silence. Behind his sleek mahogany desk, Lan Xichen skimmed through a series of reports — coded transaction sheets, surveillance images, and a list of names that should have been crossed off days ago. His expression was calm as ever, serene even, but the faint tension in his jaw betrayed the storm beneath.

A knock echoed at the door. Two short, one long; the rhythm you had unconsciously adopted since coming here. Without looking up, Xichen murmured with a lit cigarette in hand, “Come in.”

The door opened. You stepped inside, your sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp from the rain you’d walked through after escorting the two teens home from their self-defence lessons. You looked every inch the servant by now, tailored black shirt, silver cuff at your wrist, knife sheathed at your thigh, the tattoo on your Lan insignia neck healed by now — but your eyes still burned with the same restless defiance that had made Zewu-Jun take notice months ago.

“The kids are asleep,” You spoke, voice curt and efficient. “Dinner’s in the warmer. You missed it. Again.”

Lan Xichen’s pen paused mid-signature. “You could have eaten without me.”

“I wasn’t hungry,” You replied, tone sharp enough to cut glass. The same glass that looks down on an entire city.

A quiet laugh escaped the Lan boss, soft but edged. “You never are.”