Chapter 418: The Cats Are Innocent
I took a careful sip of my tea and discovered that he had, unfortunately, prepared it perfectly.
The tea was hot without being painful, sweet enough to count as comfort, and strong enough that the milk hadn’t destroyed it.
I took a second drink before setting the mug beside me. "It’s acceptable."
Zhenlan’s smile deepened slightly. "I’ll consider that high praise."
"It shouldn’t go to your head."
"I’ll try to remain humble."
The movie menu waited on the screen while rain continued pouring beyond the edge of the terrace. Every few seconds, lightning moved silently behind the clouds. The thunder followed later, deep and distant enough that it blended with the sound of water running from the roof.
Nothing struck the barrier.
No zombies appeared between the trees.
The plants below lifted happily toward the storm without recoiling from anything beneath the soil.
I noticed myself checking anyway.
Zhenlan followed my gaze toward the gardens but didn’t immediately ask what was wrong. He gave me time to look across the property and confirm that there was nothing waiting beyond the lights.
"The barrier is quiet," he said after a while.
"So is the garage."
"Yuche reinforced the box again before you left your room."
"Did the prisoner complain?"
"He was unconscious."
"That probably made the process easier."
Zhenlan reached for the remote. "Do you want me to keep watching the grounds?"
The offer was serious, but it wasn’t loaded with urgency. He wasn’t preparing to stand at the railing for the rest of the night or call someone to patrol the lawn. He was only asking whether I needed him to look so I could stop doing it myself.
I glanced at the rain once more before settling farther into the cushions. "No. If something gets through the plants, the barrier, Yuche’s metal, and whatever else you people have added without telling me, it has earned the right to interrupt the movie."
Zhenlan accepted that and started the film.
He had chosen the disaster movie I had been searching for the day before, the one with the volcano beneath a city full of people who refused to evacuate despite increasingly obvious evidence that the ground was preparing to explode.
It was a good movie, mostly because almost everyone made terrible decisions.
I turned toward him. "You picked a movie about the world ending for our break from the world ending."
"You liked it," he replied with a shrug like that was the only reason he needed to watch something.
"That doesn’t make the decision less suspicious."
"You spent twenty minutes looking for it yesterday."
"I could have been checking whether anyone had misplaced it."
"You complained every time you opened the wrong case."
"Because someone keeps returning the discs incorrectly."
"Lingyun," Zhenlan said.
"Obviously."
The opening scene began, and I adjusted the blanket across my legs. Zhenlan sat close enough that our shoulders touched, but he didn’t immediately pull me against him or use the date as an excuse to crowd me. He seemed content to let the contact remain small while the movie settled into its first unnecessary scientific warning.
The main character discovered a series of abnormal readings and immediately decided he needed more evidence before telling anyone.
"He’s going to regret that," I said.
Zhenlan picked up the bowl of popcorn and placed it between us. "You’ve already seen this."
"That doesn’t make him less stupid."
"How many times?"
"Enough to know who is going to die because they are too stupid to live."
"Rouxi."
"Six."
Zhenlan looked at me rather than the screen.
"I like consistency," I explained. "It’s even better when I know the endings."
"You complained about watching it again."
"I contain multitudes."
He returned his attention to the movie, but the quiet amusement stayed on his face.
For the next several minutes, I watched the characters ignore every warning sign available to them. Zhenlan didn’t interrupt my commentary or point out that I knew what would happen. He only moved the snacks closer whenever I reached for something and refilled my tea before I noticed the mug was empty.
The ease of it began to feel strange.
I had spent so long expecting every calm moment to be interrupted that part of me remained braced for the radio to crackle from downstairs. I kept waiting for someone to shout from the property, for my scar to burn, or for the plants to suddenly turn toward another threat.
Nothing happened.
The movie continued. Rain covered the world beyond the terrace, and Zhenlan’s shoulder remained warm against mine.
Eventually, I stopped looking toward the barrier.
I didn’t notice the exact moment I relaxed. One minute I was sitting upright with the mug balanced between my hands, and the next I had shifted closer beneath the blanket until the side of my body rested against Zhenlan’s.
He didn’t comment on it.
His arm moved behind me slowly, giving me enough time to notice before he settled it across my shoulders. His hand rested loosely against my upper arm without pulling me any nearer than I had already chosen to move.
I considered pointing out that he was taking advantage of the weather.
Instead, I leaned my head against his shoulder.
Zhenlan became still for half a second.
The pause was so brief that I might have missed it if I hadn’t been pressed against him. Then his fingers moved once over my sleeve, and some of the tension left his body.
Onscreen, the city officials dismissed the warning because evacuation would be inconvenient and expensive.
"They deserve what’s coming," I murmured.
Zhenlan’s voice was quieter beside my ear. "The entire city?"
"Not the children. Or the dogs."
"Anyone else?"
"The cats are innocent, too. Anyone else, and I’ll decide later."
His chest moved beneath my cheek when he laughed.
The sound surprised me. Zhenlan smiled occasionally, usually when I threatened someone or said something he found unexpectedly entertaining, but I couldn’t remember the last time I had heard him laugh without danger nearby.
I lifted my head to look at him.
"What?" he asked.
"You laughed."
"I’ve done that before."
"Not often."
His hand remained on my arm. "There wasn’t much to laugh about before."
"There still isn’t."
"There is tonight."