The sun was dipping below the skyline, casting long, orange fingers through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Han Shān’s penthouse. It was a cold, sterile place, filled with expensive Italian furniture and silent air conditioning, but over the last two weeks, Bai Yue had managed to make it feel a little more like a home.

Or at least, a lived-in museum.

She looked down at little Zhēn, who was curled up on the velvet sofa, her breathing deep and even. The girl had fallen asleep mid-sentence while explaining the complex social hierarchy of her kindergarten class. Bai Yue smiled, reaching down to tuck a stray hair behind the girl’s ear. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Zhēn’s forehead.

"Sleep well, little star," she whispered.

"She likes you more than the last six nannies combined," a small voice said from the rug.

Bai Yue turned to see Ruì Xuě. The boy was the polar opposite of his sister, quiet, observant, and far too intelligent for his own good. He was currently surrounded by high-tech building blocks, constructing what looked like a miniature, hyper-efficient power grid.

"Is that a compliment?" Bai Yue teased, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him. "Because I heard the last nanny lasted exactly three hours before Zhēn hid her car keys in the freezer."

Ruì Xuě offered a rare, tiny smirk. "It is. You don’t smell like expensive perfume. You smell like... ginger? And woodsmoke? It’s nice."

Bai Yue froze. Ginger and woodsmoke. The words triggered a sharp, painful jolt in her mind. For the last two weeks, her sleep had been a battlefield. Every time she closed her eyes, she wasn’t in her cramped apartment, she was in a world of towering trees and predatory shadows. She saw the librarian, Yàn Shū, but he was dressed in furs. She saw the man on the news, Zhāo Yàn, laughing as he wrestled a literal tiger. And she saw her employer, Han Shān, but his hair was longer and white.

In those dreams, they weren’t strangers. They were hers.

"Bai Yue?" Ruì Xuě asked, his brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine, honey," she lied, forcing a smile. "Just tired. Show me what you’re building."

Ruì Xuě pointed to a specific node on his model. "It’s a stabilizer. It keeps the energy from overflowing and blowing the whole system. My dad says the world needs more stabilizers."

"Your dad is a very smart man," Bai Yue said.

"And a very angry one today," Ruì Xuě muttered, looking toward the hallway.

As if on cue, the heavy front doors slammed open with a sound like a gunshot. The vibration was so violent it made the glass of water on the coffee table ripple.

Han Shān marched into the living room. His tie was loosened, his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were bloodshot.

He stopped dead when he saw her sitting on the floor with his son.

"Ruì Xuě," Han Shān barked, his voice raw. "Go to your room. Now."

The boy scrambled up, his eyes wide. "But Papa, we were just—"

"I said now!"

Ruì Xuě didn’t argue further. He shot a worried glance at Bai Yue and bolted down the hall.

Bai Yue stood up slowly. She had never seen Han Shān like this. Even when he was being cold and demanding, there was always a sense of control. That control was gone.

"Mr. Han?" she started, her voice trembling. "If this is about the laundry, I told the service that—"

"What are you doing?!!!" he roared, closing the distance between them. He stopped inches from her, his presence so overwhelming she felt like she was being crushed by a mountain of ice. "Is this some game to you? Some elaborate, psychological torture? Who hired you? What is your aim?"

Bai Yue stepped back, her hands flying up in a defensive gesture. "I don’t know what you’re talking about! Mr. Han, you’re scaring me."

"Don’t lie to me!" He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin. He wasn’t hurting her, but the intensity in his grip was terrifying. "The scholar. Yàn Shū. He was at my office today. He knows things he shouldn’t know. He knows about the soup. He knows your name."

Bai Yue’s breath hitched. "Yàn Shū? The librarian?"

"Yes! And that bastard Zhāo Yàn too!" Han Shān’s voice cracked. "We are all having the same dreams, Bai Yue! Every night! I see you. I see you holding my children. And then I wake up in this empty, freezing house and I want to tear the walls down!"

He shook her slightly, his face twisting. "What is this? What have you done to us? Why are three grown men losing their minds over a woman they barely know?"

Bai Yue felt the tears pricking her eyes. The confusion, the dreams, the overwhelming sense of belonging she felt whenever she looked at him, it all came rushing out. "I don’t know! I swear to you, I don’t know! I have the dreams too! I see you with white hair, and I see the forest, and I see the kids as... as cubs. I thought I was going crazy. I thought I was just lonely and projecting onto my boss!"

Han Shān froze, his breath hitching as he stared into her eyes. For a moment, the anger flickered, replaced by a devastating vulnerability.

"You....you dream of us too?" he whispered.

"Every night," she sobbed. "I see a life that isn’t mine, but it feels more real than this one."

Han Shān bared his teeth, a growl escaping his throat. He let go of her and turned away, his chest heaving. He looked like he was fighting the urge to smash every expensive thing in the room.

Suddenly, the phone in his pocket buzzed.

Han Shān pulled it out with a jerky motion. He stared at the screen, his jaw tightening so hard the bone looked ready to snap.

"What is it?" Bai Yue asked, wiping her eyes.

"Zhāo Yàn," Han Shān spat. "He sent a location. A warehouse in the old district. He says he found someone who can explain why our souls are ’leaking.’"

He looked back at her.

"He says if I don’t show up, he’s going to tell the ’shaman’ that I’m a coward who’s afraid of a few dreams." Han Shān’s eyes flashed. "He told me to ’get your ass here.’"

He grabbed his charcoal coat from the chair. He paused at the door, looking at the sleeping Zhēn and then back at Bai Yue.

"Stay here," he commanded, though it sounded less like an order and more like a plea. "Lock the doors. Don’t leave until I come back. I’m going to end this. I’m going to find out what kind of sick trick the universe is playing on us."

"Mr. Han—"

"Han Shān," he corrected her, his voice dropping. "In the dreams, you never call me Mr. Han."

With that, he vanished into the hallway, the front door clicking shut.

Bai Yue sank onto the floor, her heart still racing. She looked at her hands, which were shaking just as badly as Yàn Shū’s had been earlier that day.

What was happening to her? What was happening to them? She resisted the urge to cry as little Rui Xue came down to console her.