"Stop screaming and hold still," Qu Ruyi snapped, slamming the man's shoulder against a lichen-streaked headstone.
He stilled, eyes wild, blood slick on his temple. Half the moon hung behind ragged clouds. Crickets argued with the flapping of crows.
"Tell me your name," she said, voice low. Her fingers found a jagged tear in his sleeve and pressed, hard enough to buy two breaths.
"Don't—" He tried to speak and a wet sound came out. "Qin—"
"Not Qin, name. Speak it."
"P-Please—"
She pulled his chin back. A carved jade pendant pressed into his collarbone. There were marks on the surface, a badge she recognized from the markets of Jingcheng: the Chen crest, twin mountain ridges and a curled phoenix. Her mouth curled.
"Chen," she said. "Chen who?"
His eyes cleared a sliver. "Jing—Jingheng."
Qu's laugh was a snort. "You're not the body's owner then." She jabbed with the heel of her hand at his ribs. "Open your eyes or I'll force them."
He obeyed. He was thin, too thin for a noble young lord, but the fine cut of his sleeve and the jade said the story plainly. A noble second son out here, in a ruined graveyard, bleeding, and screamed like a widow. Moonlight on his face made him look young enough to be conned.
"You'll get us both killed if you keep making noise," she said. "Can you walk?"
"No," he whispered.
"Good," she said. "You'll
