The silence in the tea room stretched out, heavy and suffocating.
It pressed against my ears. The air conditioning hummed low in the ceiling. Somewhere behind the screen, jasmine incense burned. The smoke was thin and sweet. It mixed with the scent of green tea and polished glass. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the South China Sea was flat. Light hit the water and threw it back in white shards. The room felt too still.
In the corner, the Imperial Shadow shifted her weight slightly. The movement was small. Almost nothing. But I heard the soft brush of fabric against fabric. I could feel her eyes burning into the side of my head. She was analyzing my posture, trying to reconcile the arrogant billionaire sitting at the table with the lethal ghost she had fought in the dark.
She remembered my weight. My reach. The way I moved when there were no cameras.
