“Lan.” She flinched at Zen’s tone. He had not moved. “Let’s go.” His face had been wiped clean as a slate: beautiful yet terrible to behold, like a night without stars. That expression—it reminded her of the time his eyes had turned completely black at the walls of Haak’gong. As Zen turned to leave, he paused and looked directly at the Medicine disciple. Shàn’jūn dropped his gaze. Behind him, Tai tensed. His eyes trailed Zen as the latter strode past him and back down the halls of the bookhouse.
