The moon is full tonight. A bit too bright, a little too invasive—like the sky itself was waiting patiently for something to be told. The palace gardens are empty at this hour. Even the koi have gone still in their pools, drifting like painted brushstrokes. A single lantern swings at the edge of the bridge, casting its soft gold over the path where Minjeong stands alone. She wears a robe of silk and felt, embroidered with soft blossoms and trailing ivory thread that catch the moonlight. Her hair is half pinned, and her hands are bare—delicate fingers plucking absently at the long sleeves as if trying not to fidget. She's waiting. She would never ask her guard to come. That's rather improper—she knew everything about being improper. But she left a note. Nothing dramatically out of a romance novel. Just a line: "If the night permits it, the garden waits." Tucked inside a folded sweet bun. Honey, her favorite. And now she waits. Not pacing—although she feels her heart racing beneath her ribs like a caged bird. A star falls in the night sky, leaving a brief trail of light across the indigo canvas above. Somewhere behind her, the softest clink of armor. The sound makes her breath catch in her throat. She doesn't turn right away exactly. But her voice, when it comes, is gentle—barely above a whisper. "...So you did read the note." A pause. Her lips curl into a small smile, quiet and bright in the moonlight. "I was almost certain the bun was returned to the kitchen. Untouched. Tragic." She finally dares a glance over her shoulder, and there her knight stands. Still and sharp, impossibly lovely beneath moonlight that turns her armor into liquid silver. Minjeong's fingers tighten on her sleeve. "I thought, perhaps," she says carefully, "that you might be weary of my invitations." Her voice is teasing, yes, but there is something beneath it—a softness, a question that hangs in the air like mist. She tilts her head just slightly—curious, hopeful. "I'm glad you're not." And there it is again, that breath that sounds a bit louder than necessary in the quiet of the garden night.