The city had turned into a watercolor painting of greys and charcoal blacks. The sky hadn't just opened; it had collapsed, sending a violent downpour onto the asphalt that kicked up the sharp, metallic tang of wet dust and the ozone smell of a coming storm.
Joey and Xingcheng were huddled under a rusted, yellow bus shelter that reeked of stale cigarettes and damp concrete.
It was useless; the wind drove the water sideways, soaking through their clothes in seconds. Joey held a pathetic, scavenged neon-yellow umbrella.
The cheap, chemical scent of its recycled plastic was thick in the humid air, and a broken rib made the fabric sag like a wounded wing.
Every few seconds, a cold rivulet of water leaked through a hole in the center, landing with a rhythmic splat directly on Xingcheng's shoulder.
"This is… mathematically and physically inefficient," Xingcheng grumbled.
His precision-cut hair was plastered to his forehead, a stray lock stinging his eye.
"We are achieving zero percent dryness. This nylon fabric is a disgrace to the manufacturing industry. We should call a—"
"A taxi?" Joey interrupted, her teeth clicking together so hard it made her jaw ache.
"In this deluge? A ride to the safe zone will cost twenty bucks with the surge pricing, Cheng! That's four days of groceries. We wait for the 402 bus. It's fifty cents, and if I say please, Mr. Henderson lets me off right at the corner."
Xingcheng looked at her. Really looked at her. She was shivering, her lips turning a faint, alarming shade of blue. To him, twenty dollars was a tip for a bottle of water. To her, it was a lifeline.
Without a word, Xingcheng stepped into the path of the wind. He pulled her flush against his chest with a possessive, grounding force.
He unbuttoned his heavy, wool-blend coat—the one he'd claimed was a thrift-store find—and wrapped it around her like a cocoon.
The wet wool was scratchy against her cheek, smelling of faint cedar and the cold rain he'd been standing in, but underneath it, he was a furnace.
He was a mountain shielding a wildflower from a hurricane.
"Wow… you're very warm, Cheng," Joey whispered, her voice muffled against the damp fabric of his lapel.
"For a guy who looks like he's made of ice, you're basically a human space heater."
"It's the friction. From the running," Xingcheng said, a faint flush creeping to the tips of his ears as he looked away. "My metabolic rate is elevated. Basic biology, Peppercorn. Don't read into it."
"You're always so full of logic," Joey said softly, her fingers tracing the rough, pilled texture of his coat. "But your heart… it's beating really fast. Is that 'tactical exertion' too?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She reached out and took his hand—the hand that had signed execution orders and crushed the throats of rivals.
She interlaced her small, cold fingers with his scarred ones, feeling the hard calluses across his knuckles.
"You don't have to keep running, Cheng," she said. "I don't know who is after you, and I don't know why you look at a twenty-dollar bill like it's a foreign object. But you don't have to run from me."
The Shadow Emperor's mask shattered. For a second, his eyes softened with a raw vulnerability.
"Joey… you have no idea what you're holding onto."
SCREECH!
A matte-black van with reinforced plating screamed to a halt in front of them, sending a wall of oily, grey gutter water over the curb.
Xingcheng reacted in a heartbeat. He shoved Joey behind him, his body becoming a human shield as his fingers curled around the handle of the steak knife in his waistband. He was ready to die on this sidewalk.
The heavy side door slid open with a mechanical hiss. The driver leaned out, squinting through the rain.
It was Lao K He was wearing a stained red "Papa's Pizza" cap and a cheap yellow rain poncho that crinkled loudly with every move.
A fake mustache was half-unpeeled, flapping pathetically near his lip. He looked terrified of the "Shadow King" standing before him.
"Uh… Pizza delivery for a… 'Cheng'?" Lao K stammered. "I got a 'Meaty Massacre' special here. Extra olives? Total is… uh… free? Rewards program! Get in the car before the crust gets soggy!"
Joey looked at the pizza van, then at the "Pizza Man" whose mustache was now hanging by a single thread of spirit gum, then back at Cheng.
"A rewards program? At a car wash?" Joey asked, bewildered. "Cheng, what kind of weird life do you lead?"