Practice tool? Discard it?
How could he use such a wounded tone to say something so aggressive?
In an instant, all of Jiang Nuan's embarrassment and tension turned into gritted teeth.
"Did you plan this all along?" she asked in a low voice. "You deliberately suggested this method for practice?"
In the darkness, he didn't deny it.
His breathing was close, scorching and unsteady, sweeping across the skin of her neck in soft bursts.
His forehead rested in the hollow of her shoulder, a position that made his whole posture look like he was enduring some immense pain, or like he was begging for some tiny shred of mercy.
Jiang Nuan's hand was still pressed against his chest, and the heartbeat beneath her palm was racing at an abnormal pace.
She wanted to push him away.
But those words of his—"throw it away after using it, is that it?"
If anyone else had said that, she would have dismissed it as irrational melodrama.
But coming from Ye Que's mouth...
"I want to get close to you, to stay by your side," his voice was muffled in the hollow of her shoulder. "That's my long-held plan."
Jiang Nuan's breath stopped.
"Ye Que..."
Last night on the sofa, that half-sentence interrupted by Shen Wu.
At the time, she had assumed it was just drunken rambling.
Or... getting too deep into character.
After all, they had played a couple in front of Bai Siyuan all day—holding hands, linking arms, exchanging looks, performing every bit of intimate familiarity to the fullest. What normal person, after acting for a dozen straight hours, wouldn't be possessed by their role?
But now, in this dark, cramped closet, there was no one to perform for.
Only him.
And his breathing, trembling as he fought to hold it together.
"...Are you drunk today too?" she asked.
"No. And I wasn't yesterday either."
Ye Que's words were crisp and clear.
"Last night's alcohol wasn't enough to make me lose my judgment."
His lashes brushed against the skin of her collarbone, sending a faint, trembling itch through her.
"But it was enough to make me... unable to hold back any longer."
Jiang Nuan's fingers curled involuntarily.
"The mission requires me to monitor you, to restrict your range of movement," his voice came from the darkness. "With that as the context, you have every reason not to trust what I say."
"When you captured me," Jiang Nuan couldn't help but retort, "was that also premeditated?"
In the darkness, his body went still for a moment.
The hand that had been cradling the back of her head loosened, sliding slowly down to her neck, his fingertip grazing lazily behind her ear.
"Yes."
No hesitation whatsoever.
"I volunteered for the mission," he said. "I read your profile and saw your photo. Before I set out, I looked up everything about you."
Jiang Nuan froze.
Even though she'd known all along—it was a carefully calculated hunt by Zero Squad, and she was the prey.
But...
"Lu Shiyan originally planned to send Jiang Ce," his breath was hot enough to numb her skin. "I intercepted the assignment."
"...Why?"
A two-second silence.
His thumb moved unconsciously against her waist, as if weighing his words, or simply unable to stop himself.
"In the profile photo, you were smiling."
That's it?
Just because of one photo?
Jiang Nuan's back pressed against the cold wall of the closet, her chest against his scorching warmth. Between the cold and the heat, a fine tremor crawled up her spine.
She should be afraid.
"...You're insane," she said, her voice so faint she could barely hear it herself.
He didn't deny it.
In the darkness, she could see nothing. Only touch remained, magnified beyond measure. His body heat. His heartbeat. The slight quiver of his fingers.
Somewhere along the way, this embrace began to tremble—a trembling born of restraint pushed to its very limit, on the verge of breaking apart.
What hunter ever trembled like this in front of their prey?
"From here on," Ye Que's voice continued beside her ear, "you can call a stop at any time."
His posture was unyieldingly invasive.
But he returned the choice to her.
Whether it was the thin oxygen inside the closet, or the heat radiating from his body, Jiang Nuan felt herself growing hot too, her breathing turning labored.
Ye Que had laid his feelings out in the open.
He was the hunter, the monitor, the one who had dragged her into this turmoil.
He was also the one who fired a single shot in that tunnel to save her from certain death, the one who tucked her blankets in late at night, the one now trembling before her as he laid all his cards on the table.
She didn't answer his confession.
But in the absolute darkness and silence, she nodded.
In that instant, she felt Ye Que's entire body go rigid.
Then, the arm around her waist tightened again. One of his hands slid from her cheek to the back of her head, and his broad palm cupped her skull, pulling her toward him.
The searing heat around her swallowed her completely.
Later, she couldn't remember when she'd started shaking. All she knew was that his forehead pressed against hers, his breath shattered, beating against her lips again and again, heavier with every exhale.
In the darkness, there was no reference point. No light. No sound. No time.
Only the heart in his chest, pounding, slamming into her again and again.
Like the only real thing in this mad, insane world.
