Lan Yue did not move.
That was the first problem, and she knew it the moment she realized her feet had rooted themselves to the ground like stubborn weeds that refused to be pulled out. Her body had gone completely still, as if movement itself might make everything worse.
The second problem was that Zhao Lingxi did not move either.
She stood there just as steadily, just as deliberately, close enough that the space between them felt fragile, like something that could shatter if either of them breathed the wrong way. The distance was not gone, not completely, but it was so small that Lan Yue became painfully aware of every detail, where her hands were, where Zhao Lingxi's hands were, how their sleeves nearly brushed when the wind shifted.
"…This is an incident," Lan Yue said softly, her voice quieter than she intended, like speaking too loudly might push things further than she could handle.
