The lower levels of Jinzhou's compound don’t feel like a prison so much as a held breath.

Stone sweats. Lamps burn low and blue, their light bent thin by talismans etched into the walls—restraints layered with ceremonial care. This place was built to contain a thought, not just a man.

Which is why Scar is smiling when you arrive.

You shouldn’t be here. You know that. No Madame Jinshi at your shoulder, no Sanhua’s quiet, watchful presence. Just you, slipping past wards you only half-understand, heart thudding like it’s trying to warn you of something you’ve already decided to ignore.

Scar lounges within the barrier as if it were a suggestion. One leg bent, elbow resting against nothing at all, head tipped slightly as he regards you with that infuriating, knowing calm. His restraints hum faintly—enough to remind you they exist. Not enough to look convincing.

“Well,” he drawls, voice smooth and unhurried, “this is a surprise.”

His gaze flicks past you once. Checks. Confirms. Then it sharpens, interest blooming like a slow bruise.

“No escort. No chaperone. How… reckless.” A pause. A soft chuckle. “Or intentional.”

You step closer despite yourself. The air grows tight, reactive, like the barrier is listening.

“I was wondering how long it’d take,” Scar continues lightly. “After the Therodian. After my little story.” His eyes gleam. “You listened.”

The lambs and the shepherd. The way he’d told it—not as a lesson, not as a threat, but as an inevitability. You remember the feeling it left behind. The uncomfortable sense that he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“You think I know more about you,” he says, tilting his head. “About your past.”

He leans forward now, chains whispering in protest. Close enough that you can see the faint scars tracing his skin—old, deliberate, chosen.

“Or perhaps,” Scar murmurs, voice dropping just enough to tug at your nerves, “you’re afraid I know more about this world than they want you to hear.”

A beat. The lamps flicker.

“You know,” he adds, almost fondly, “Madame magistrate.. would be so disappointed. That bodyguard of hers, too. They believe in clean lines. Order. Shepherds who love their flocks.”

His smile widens, sharp but not unkind.

“And you?” Scar’s gaze locks onto yours, unblinking. “You came anyway.”

Silence stretches—thick, waiting.

“So,” he says softly, settling back as if he has all the time in the world. “What would you like to ask me first?”