"Do you think something's off with those two?"

Jack whispered to David after they switched carriages.

David nodded gravely. "Grace doesn't act like a woman in love. More like a bystander. The boss looks utterly awkward."

"You don't think the boss forced Grace to..."

"Watch your tongue!" David frowned, cutting him off with a wave. "Do you really think a woman like Grace could ever be forced?"

"...Good point," Jack conceded after a pause.

Inside the other carriage, Grace gazed out the window at the passing landscape—lost in thought or simply spacing out. Edmund drove up front, his expression sullen.

Up ahead, Herman subtly shifted his gaze from the carriage. Doubt flickered in his eyes, but soon his brow smoothed. A confident smirk curled his lips.

Meanwhile, Mushiyu lay bored on the carriage bed. Too much sleep and no exercise left her limbs limp and weak. The smooth plains road made the carriage sway gently, lulling her toward sleep—but she stubbornly refused to close her eyes.

*This boredom is going to kill me!*

Mushiyu sat up with a groan, ruffling her already messy hair.

Hearing the door open, she quickly lay back down and pulled the blanket over herself. Her dull eyes instantly lit up when she spotted the books in Loran’s hands. She stared like a puppy begging for scraps.

That soft, pleading gaze made Loran’s heart skip. Her eyes instinctively dropped to Mushiyu’s neck—then flinched away from the faint red marks there.

Loran sat calmly at the table, placed the books down, and picked one up as if alone. When Mushiyu reached for the top book, Loran’s hand snapped out.

*Smack!*

"Ow!" Mushiyu cradled her stinging hand, shooting Loran a wounded look.

"Did I say you could touch them?" Loran asked coldly.

*No need to hit so hard! Fine, I won’t read them!*

Mushiyu huffed, glaring at her reddened knuckles.

Just as she resolved to ignore the books, Loran suddenly stood. She took Mushiyu’s injured hand and began tenderly massaging it.

Mushiyu froze, bewildered by the sudden shift.

Loran relaxed slightly when Mushiyu didn’t pull away. She traced the delicate bones of that small hand—so tiny it could vanish in her own palm.

"Ask next time," Loran said sternly, still kneading. "Don’t take things without permission. Understand?"

"O-okay..." Mushiyu nodded, trying to withdraw her hand with flushed cheeks.

Loran tightened her grip instinctively. "Wait. The swelling hasn’t gone down."

"I can do it myself..." Ever since Melissara’s teasing, Mushiyu had grown wary of intimate touches between women. Loran’s closeness made her skin crawl.

Ignoring the struggle, Loran held on fiercely, savoring the warmth. *Now I understand why Melissara craves this.* She found herself leaning closer, drawn to Mushiyu’s wide, startled eyes—down the delicate nose—to those soft, glistening lips.

"Stop! It doesn’t hurt anymore!" Mushiyu shrank back, clutching her chest. Loran’s ravenous gaze terrified her. She yanked her hand free and scrambled backward.

Loran’s expression didn’t change. She reached toward Mushiyu’s cheek. "Don’t move," she commanded sharply when Mushiyu flinched.

Cool fingers brushed her skin, plucking away a stray hair.

"You’re always so messy," Loran muttered—then instantly regretted it.

Mushiyu huffed and turned away, slamming her eyes shut.

"I didn’t mean—" Loran reached out helplessly. *Stupid. Why say that?*

Mushiyu stayed rigid with anger. *They locked me in here without proper clothes, and now they criticize my hair? Unfair!*

Loran bit her lip, then abruptly stood and left.

The moment the door clicked shut, Mushiyu sprang up. She arranged the stack of books neatly on the table. Their covers were plain, adorned only with simple patterns and unfamiliar script. Yet somehow, she understood every word—as easily as reading Chinese.