“You told me you wished for me to never be alone again.” The words fell from her lips in broken, jagged pieces. Zen’s chest shifted as he drew in a sudden, rattling breath. His fingers tightened against her shoulders, pushing her back. His eyes were clear. He held her in place for a moment more. His gaze roved her face, from her chin to her lips to her eyes, as though committing every part of her to memory. Then he let go and stood. Qì blazed from Zen’s body again, fanning out like wings in the night, and with a single leap, he was gone, slipping through her fingers like wind.
