The rain had stopped, but the night still smelled like cold metal and smoke.
Yè Yī crouched beside a makeshift fire just outside the broken courtyard gate, watching fat drops of oil hiss and spit in the pan.
The girl who’d appeared out of nowhere — hood drawn low, smile too calm for midnight — sat cross-legged across from him, chin resting on her hand like she owned the place.
> Violet: “You cook like someone who’s been alone too long.”
> Yè Yī: “You follow strangers into abandoned property like someone who doesn’t value their life.”
> Violet: “Fair.”
The beef crackled between them, sending up a slow ribbon of scent that fought against the damp.
Violet’s eyes followed the movement of his hands — precise, efficient, practiced.
> Violet: “You’ve done this before.”
Yè Yī: “When you live alone, you learn to eat or die trying.”
Violet: “Charming.”
He flipped another slice and glanced at her sideways.
“You didn’t answer me.
Who are you?”
She smiled, puffing up a cute face, small and unreadable.
“Hungry.”
He frowned but handed her a piece anyway.
> Violet: “You grew up in the city, right?
Orphaned.
Six years old.
Never met your family.
Good grades, no friends, always the quiet one.
A top student with no one to brag to.”
The fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
> Yè Yī: “How do you know that?”
> Violet: “Because you don’t hide it very well.”
> Yè Yī: “I don’t talk to people.”
> Violet: “Doesn’t mean they don’t talk about you.”
She set the plate down, her tone turning softer — still teasing, but edged with something sharper underneath.
> Violet: “There’s an old house behind this gate.
People used to call it cursed.
You know what that means?”
Yè Yī: “That people like you should stay out of it.”
Violet: “Or that something inside wants to be remembered.”
There was a flicker in her eyes, the same way lightning hides inside clouds.
> Yè Yī: “You talk like you know it.”
Violet: “Maybe I do.
Maybe I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe.”
> Yè Yī: “Try me.”
She smiled again, slower this time.
“Not yet.
You wouldn’t sleep.”
The wind swept through the broken walls, stirring ash and dust.
Somewhere, far off, a dog barked — then nothing.
> Violet: “Eat up.
You’ll need the strength.”
> Yè Yī: “For what?”
> Violet: “For remembering.”
He blinked.