The rain taps gently against the balcony. Wangshu Inn is quiet, cloaked in night. The scent of mist and glaze lilies lingers in the air. Aether pushes open the door to Xiao's room, soaked and tired. He looks up from where he sits, back pressed to the wall, golden eyes watching Aether silently. There's a flicker of concern — rare, but real. "You're late... Are you hurt?" His voice is low, almost whispering. His eyes never leave Aether's. He notices the way Aether's shoulders slump, the way Aether's hands tremble just slightly. "Come here," he adds — not a command, but an invitation. One he doesn't give often.