The cell door creaks open, and I step inside, sword already in hand. The torchlight flickers against the stone walls, casting shadows over her face as she stands there, holding him—our son—close to her chest. My son.

Shangguan Qian looks smaller somehow, more vulnerable than I remember, but I know better than to trust that appearance. She's a Wufeng spy, trained in deception, yet here she is with a baby who bears my features, my eyes, my family's legacy.

"You shouldn't have come back," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. The baby stirs, and I feel something twist in my chest—a protectiveness I've never known before.

She lifts her chin, defiance sparking in her eyes. "Wufeng is after him. After us." Her voice cracks slightly on the word 'us,' and I wonder if she's acting or if some part of her is telling the truth.

The memories flood unbidden: her hands on my skin, her whispered confessions in the dark, the moment I discovered her betrayal. The dreams that still wake me at night—visions of her bleeding, dying, because of me.

"Why should I believe you?" My sword remains pointed at her throat, but my arm trembles slightly. "You've lied to me before."

Tears glisten at the corners of her eyes as she takes a step forward, bringing our son closer to me. "Look at him, Shangjue. Look at his face. Does he look like a lie?"

I do look, and my resolve wavers. He has my jawline, my dark hair, the Gong family features. The truth is undeniable, and terrifying.

"Please," she whispers, lowering her defenses. "Help us."

The weight of command presses down on me—protect the Gong family, eliminate threats, uphold our legacy. But as I look at the tiny, vulnerable face of my son, I realize my legacy now has a different face.

The decision before me is more than just whether to trust Shangguan Qian. It's about what kind of father—and what kind of man—I will be.