The moon hung low and swollen in the sky, casting silver light across the safehouse grounds.
Xiao Lin twisted in his bed, tangled in his sheets, breath hitching with unease. His instincts — sharper now after days of harsh training — screamed at him.
Something was wrong.
A sharp crack outside made him jolt upright.
Without thinking, Xiao Lin scrambled out of bed, throwing on a thin cloak. His fox ears flattened against his hair as he crept to the window.
The garden below was still.
Too still.
The patrols Yan Shuo had organized should've been making their rounds — he should have heard their low, joking voices, the clink of armor.
Instead... nothing.
The silence felt suffocating.
Then he saw it — a flicker of movement by the outer wall.
Black shapes, ghosting through the shadows.
Xiao Lin's heart slammed against his ribs.
They're here.
He didn't think.
He ran.
Down the halls, heart pounding. He was no soldier, no strategist — just a fox cub racing toward the only safety he knew.
The Marshal.
He rounded a corner and collided straight into Sheng Long's chest.
The Marshal caught him instantly, strong arms steadying him.
"What's wrong?" Sheng Long asked, voice low and urgent.
"Attack," Xiao Lin gasped. "Assassins—!"
Before Sheng Long could answer, a blade whistled through the air.
He shoved Xiao Lin behind him and drew a hidden blade from his belt in one fluid motion, deflecting the strike.
The assassin landed lightly on the stone floor, masked and deadly, two more figures slipping from the shadows behind him.
Xiao Lin's blood ran cold.
There were too many.
Even for the Marshal... what if—
What if he gets hurt because of me?
The thought froze Xiao Lin for a crucial second — enough that another assassin broke from the flank, rushing toward him with a dagger drawn.
"Xiao Lin, MOVE!" Sheng Long barked.
The training kicked in.
Xiao Lin dropped low, twisting his body the way Yan Shuo had taught him, feeling the dagger whistle past his ear.
He didn't think. He moved.
His small frame was fast — faster than the assassins expected.
He darted back toward Sheng Long's side, teeth bared in a snarl.
But fear gnawed at him.
Every move he made, every heartbeat, was drowned under the terror: What if Sheng Long is wounded? What if I'm not strong enough to help?
Xiao Lin hesitated again — just a heartbeat — and an assassin lunged for Sheng Long's exposed side.
Xiao Lin's body reacted before his mind could.
He screamed and threw himself forward, shoving the assassin's arm up at the last second, deflecting the blade.
Pain blossomed in Xiao Lin's shoulder where the dagger nicked him, but he barely registered it.
Sheng Long turned in a blur, fury blazing across his face, and felled the assassin with a brutal strike.
The others hesitated for a second — sensing the shift.
Big mistake.
The Marshal moved with terrifying efficiency — cold, perfect violence.
It was over in seconds.
The last body hit the stones with a dull thud.
The silence returned.
But this time it was broken by Xiao Lin crumpling to his knees, shaking.
Sheng Long was at his side instantly, hands rough but careful as he checked him over.
"You're bleeding," Sheng Long said sharply.
"I-I'm sorry," Xiao Lin stammered. "I—I hesitated. I was scared—"
His voice cracked, humiliation and terror flooding him.
Sheng Long grabbed his face, forcing Xiao Lin to look at him.
"You protected me," Sheng Long said, voice low and firm. "You moved when it mattered."
Xiao Lin blinked, confused.
"You still have fear," Sheng Long said, his thumb brushing over Xiao Lin's temple with surprising gentleness. "That means you have something worth protecting."
Xiao Lin's throat tightened.
He wanted to cry.
He wanted to lean into the Marshal's strength and pretend he wasn't a mess of torn instincts and shaking hands.
Instead, he gritted his teeth and nodded.
"Good," Sheng Long murmured. "Hold on to that fear. Just don't let it control you."
Yan Shuo and several soldiers arrived minutes later, faces grim as they surveyed the scene.
"We captured one alive," Yan Shuo reported, dragging a groaning assassin forward.
The man glared with wild, fanatical eyes.
Before Sheng Long could question him, the man convulsed violently and collapsed, frothing at the mouth — a hidden suicide pill cracking between his teeth.
Dead before they could get answers.
Xiao Lin stared at the body, his small fists clenching at his sides.
Someone had sent them.
Someone powerful enough to plant assassins even inside the Empire's territories.
This wasn't just about him anymore.
And the fear inside Xiao Lin began to twist into something sharper, something harder.
Resolve.