The hallway was dark as Qiao Ren moved through it slowly, his footsteps deliberate and controlled.
His weight shifted from heel to toe with each step, minimizing sound as he made sure that the floorboards didn't creak.
The house had settled into its night rhythm. Most of the doors were closed. A few voices murmured behind them—low, indistinct. Someone coughed in one of the upstairs rooms. The sound faded.
He passed the bathroom. The kitchen. The living room entrance.
His breathing was steady as he climbed the flight of stairs up to the second floor. He made sure to keep each inhale and exhale even as his hands hung loose at his sides.
Walking down the long hall, he stopped at the last door on the left.
Rouxi's room.
The door was closed, no light showed beneath it. The gap at the bottom was dark, uninterrupted.
He stood there for a moment, listening.
But there wasn't a single sound.
