"Mr. Ming?"
The quiet, confused voice broke through the void.
Ming Ye's eyes snapped open. The smell of blood vanished, replaced by the scent of rosemary and garlic. He was standing at the sink in the tiny apartment kitchen. The water was still running over his hands, the white foam dripping down the drain.
He didn't move for a long moment, his chest heaving silently as he forced his breathing to slow down, forcing the terrifying, ghostly images back into the dark corners of his mind. He turned his head slightly, his calculated eyes locking onto the very real, very alive Zi Han standing next to him, her face tilted in slight concern.
He turned off the tap, drying his hands with a paper towel, his serious aura settling back over his shoulders like an iron shroud.
"It's nothing," he said, his smooth baritone voice completely steady, concealing the absolute storm that had just ravaged his soul.
