Jian's eyes flicked toward the soldiers again, catching the tail end of their conversation with Xing Yu.
"…we'll begin preparations for departure as soon as the area is cleared."
His expression darkened, brows pulling low over his eyes.
They're leaving… so soon?
The words hit him harder than he expected.
His body didn't move, but inside, something cracked open like a thin sheet of ice breaking under weight. His grip on Qungya's tiny hand tightened ever so slightly—still gentle, but firm, as if anchoring himself to something solid.
A fog rolled into his chest. In his past life… the Farians hadn't left this early.
No…
They had stayed for almost five years.
