The temple sat quiet beneath the gray sky, its wooden roof slick with rain. The lanterns had long gone out, leaving only the faint scent of wax and incense that clung to the stone steps. Lian and Kai stood at the gate, soaked through, their breaths visible in the cold air.

  Kai’s teeth chattered. “Are we staying here?”

  Lian nodded. “Just until Mom and Dad come.”

  She didn’t sound sure, but Kai didn’t seem to notice. His hair stuck to his forehead, and he was clutching the blanket they’d taken from home like it was a lifeline. The temple looked half abandoned, the courtyard overgrown with moss and ferns, but the doors were unlocked. Lian pushed them open slowly, the hinges groaning.

  Inside, the air was warmer, heavy with dust and the faint echo of dripping water. Wooden statues lined the walls—warriors, gods, guardians. Their faces were worn smooth by time. A single candle still burned at the altar, half melted into a bowl of ash.

  Kai looked around, wide-eyed. “Do you think anyone lives here?”

  “Maybe a monk,” she said. “Or maybe just ghosts.”

  He frowned. “Don’t say that.”

  “Then don’t ask scary questions.”

  They set their things down by the altar. Lian wrung the water from her sleeves while Kai sat cross-legged on the floor, watching the flicker of the candle. The sound of rain on the roof filled the silence between them.

  After a while, Kai whispered, “What if they don’t come?”

  “They will,” she said automatically.

  “You don’t know that.”

  She looked at him. He was only eight, but he had their mother’s serious eyes. He didn’t ask things to be comforted; he asked because he wanted the truth. Lian wanted to give it, but she didn’t know it herself.

  So she said the only thing she could. “Dad told us to run. That means he’s buying time. He’ll come find us.”

  Kai hugged his knees. “What about Mom?”

  “She’ll come too.”

  They fell quiet again. The candle flickered lower. Lian’s stomach grumbled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since dinner. She remembered the half loaf of bread they’d left on the counter. It felt like days ago.

  “I’m hungry,” Kai said softly.

  “I know.” She got up, searching the corners of the temple. In one of the old offering drawers, she found a few wrapped biscuits, long expired but dry. “Here,” she said, handing him two.

  He smiled faintly, eating them in small bites, as if they might have to last the night. Lian ate one too. It tasted like cardboard and sugar.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Do you think they know we’re here?” Kai asked.

  “Mom told us to come to the temple,” Lian said. “She’ll look for us here first.”

  Kai nodded, comforted by that logic, even if it was thin. He leaned against her shoulder, eyes half closed.

  Outside, the rain softened to a drizzle. The sound of frogs rose from the fields below, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked again.

  Lian stared at the doorway, half expecting to see the outline of her father, or her mother’s shadow moving across the courtyard. But the only thing that moved was the wind, brushing the old prayer flags that hung near the ceiling.

  When Kai finally fell asleep, Lian sat beside him, her back against one of the wooden pillars. She looked at the small case her mother had given her, still tucked in her lap. The surface was smooth, metal, with no latch or seam she could see. It wasn’t heavy. She turned it over in her hands, trying to guess what could be inside.

  She thought about opening it, but her mother’s words came back to her. No matter what happens, keep it with you.

  She didn’t understand why it mattered so much, but the tone in her mother’s voice had been final. So she set it aside and wrapped her arms around her knees.

  For the first time in her life, the night didn’t feel safe. It wasn’t just the darkness. It was the silence underneath it—the kind that meant something was missing.

  Lian stayed awake until her eyes hurt.

  When she woke again, light had started to filter through the cracks in the wood. Morning came gray and heavy, the air thick with mist. Her neck ached from sleeping upright. Kai was still curled up beside her, breathing softly.

  She stood and went to the door. The courtyard was quiet. Puddles glimmered between the stones. The world felt both empty and too full at once, like something had shifted overnight.

  She waited, listening for footsteps, voices, anything.

  Nothing.

  Kai stirred behind her. “Lian?”

  “Morning,” she said.

  He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Did they come?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  He got to his feet, stretching. “Maybe they couldn’t find the road in the dark.”

  “Maybe.”

  They went outside together. The rain had stopped, but the ground was muddy, and their shoes squelched with every step. The path down the hill was quiet. Smoke rose faintly from the valley, too far to tell what it was.

  Kai squinted toward it. “That’s near our house, isn’t it?”

  Lian’s throat tightened. “Could be. But we’re not going back yet.”

  He nodded, trusting her word, even if she wasn’t sure herself.

  They spent the morning exploring the temple grounds. Behind the main hall was a small garden, overrun with wild bamboo and ferns. There was an old stone well in the corner, half covered in vines. Lian tried to draw up water, but the rope broke halfway, sending the bucket crashing down into the dark.

  Kai laughed. “Guess that’s one way to fix it.”

  She smiled despite herself. “You’re useless.”

  “I’m smaller. You can fit in the well better.”

  “Not funny.”

  They sat on the steps afterward, watching the mist curl between the trees. The world felt paused, like it was waiting for something.

  By noon, the clouds began to thin. The sun broke through weakly, catching the edges of the temple roof in light. Kai held his palms out to the warmth, closing his eyes. “Feels nice,” he said.

  Lian didn’t answer. Her gaze was still on the road that wound down from the hill. She kept expecting to see her father’s car, her mother’s red coat, anything familiar.

  But the road stayed empty.

  The quiet stretched. Kai leaned his head against her arm again, the way he always did when he was tired. She wrapped an arm around him, her hand absently tracing circles on his shoulder.

  “We’ll wait one more day,” she said finally, half to herself.

  Kai mumbled something that sounded like agreement.