"They know we're here."
Líng's voice was barely a whisper, but everyone heard her.
The group had pressed themselves against the base of a massive stone wall, the temple's outer boundary. Moss grew thick on the ancient carvings. The air was damp and heavy and smelled of rot.
"What do you mean, they know?" Zhāo Yàn hissed.
Líng's gold eyes scanned the darkness. Her scales had rippled back across her arms, her pangolin form bleeding through her human skin. She was ready to shift at any moment.
"Guards are moving. Not patrolling. Searching. Someone tipped them off."
"We just got here," Mo Xiao said. "How could they—"
"Does it matter how?" Bai Yue interrupted. Her voice was sharp. "They know. We adapt."
Han Shān said nothing. He was staring at the wall, at the faint glow of torchlight seeping through a crack in the stone.
"Ruì Xuě is in there," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Líng said. "And so is she. Li Hua. She's waiting for you."
Li Hua?
