"Stop! Who locked the door? Who did this to me?" Shen Luan spat into the dark, voice raw. A boot scraped the wooden threshold. A shadow filled the doorway and a robe brushed the floor. The man paused, only the edge of his shoulder catching the candlelight—an embroidered qilin in bronze on his chest. "Who are you?" she whispered, throat tight. Her hand found the quilt and dragged it to her chin. The man said nothing at first. He walked in slow, measured steps, like he owned every inch he crossed. "Speak!" she demanded. "If you mean harm, then show your face." The man stopped two paces away and lifted his chin. "I answer to the Qin household," he said. His voice was low. "Orders from the marquis's estate." Shen Luan's mouth went dry. Qin—Qin Ge. The memory of that name sat like an unwelcome guest in her ribs. She held it to herself and made it small. A panicked clamor erupted outside the chamber: slaps on the door, shouting servants. Someone cried, "Open the door! Lady Shen—open!" Footsteps stamped down the corridor. A cluster of men hammered the latch. The shadowed man moved toward the window as if to vanish. The door burst inward before anyone could think of locking it again. "What's this?" Cao Jin's voice—a blade wrapped in silk—cut the air. He pushed through, face thunderous. Two attendants trailed him, both stiff as spears. "Who is that?" Cao