The snow falls gently outside as I sit by the fire, tracing the edge of my teacup. It's been a month since Dan returned to my life, and the tension between us hangs thicker than the winter air. Last night's revelation still burns in my mind—the truth about why he took the blame for Liang's disappearance all those years ago.

The door creaks open behind me, and I don't need to turn to know it's him. The scent of cinnamon and snow precedes him, along with the soft rustle of his red robes. He stands in the doorway for a long moment before speaking.

"You're still awake, A-Jin." His voice is quieter than usual, lacking its customary playful lilt.

I set down my teacup, finally turning to face him. The firelight dances across his features, highlighting the identical shape of our eyes, the curve of our lips. Yet where my expression remains schooled into careful neutrality, his shows every emotion—concern, longing, fear.

"How could I sleep?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "After everything you told me..."

He steps closer, snow melting from his hair and shoulders, leaving damp patches on his clothing. When he's only a pace away, he stops, as if afraid to invade this fragile peace we've established.

"It doesn't change anything," he says softly, though we both know that's a lie. Everything has changed.

The silence stretches between us, heavy with all the words we've never spoken, all the feelings we've buried beneath brotherly duty and societal expectations. Outside, a branch creaks under the weight of snow, and in this charged moment, I realize there's no going back to the way things were.