The Unspoken Warning
Yana almost couldn’t resist punching him.
Her fingers had already curled once, knuckles whitening where they pressed into her knee, tendons taut beneath smooth skin. The impulse ca so suddenly it nearly escaped reason. This black-haired peacock had the nerve to insult her training, casually appraise her body in those shaless inner thoughts of his, and then sit there looking innocent, almost elegant, as though butter wouldn’t lt in his mouth.
Infuriating.
And yet...
Compared to Julian D’Aurelius’s frivolous words, what unsettled her far more was what he had said before.
Overdrawing life force.
Treatnt.
Those words had not landed lightly. They struck like hidden needles, slipping beneath calm and piercing sowhere raw.
Her father.
The thought alone made sothing in her chest tighten.
For a mont, the training grounds, the trees swaying in the mountain breeze, even the distant cries of birds seed to blur at the edges.
When she was little, Wren Tyson had never been rely a father in her eyes.
He was a mountain she believed could never fall.
A sword that could sever fate itself.
A legend wrapped in flesh.
She had admired strength because of him.
Perhaps even worshipped it.
Why else had weakness never once stirred her heart?
Why else had every man she looked at been asured, consciously or not, against the impossible image of her father?
If anyone threatened his life—
No matter who.
No matter what.
She would never let them off.
A breath left her slowly.
Then she lifted her gaze and looked straight at Julian.
"Young Master Julian, my father..."
The words caught.
Her throat tightened.
She wanted to ask plainly.
What did you an?
How do you know?
Can Father be saved?
The questions surged upward—
And stopped.
Her lips parted, but sound refused to form.
As if an invisible hand had covered her mouth.
The instant she tried to expose those mysterious inner thoughts she heard from him, a strange pressure gripped her throat unnaturally.
Not pain.
Suppression.
Like so unseen law rejecting disclosure.
Her pupils contracted.
Cold crept along her spine.
"What... is this?"
As a martial artist, instinct scread louder than logic.
It was not fear.
Fear she understood.
This was sothing stranger.
Sothing ancient in the marrow.
So taboo was at work.
So hidden restriction.
Her breathing stalled for half a heartbeat, and the fingers at her side tightened almost imperceptibly.
Seeing her suddenly falter, Julian blinked and tilted his head, studying her reaction.
"Miss Yana, what’s wrong?"
His tone carried mild puzzlent, almost innocent.
Yana’s eyes narrowed.
That made it worse.
Internally—
(What’s this woman babbling about?)
A beat.
Then—
(Haha, no need to be so nervous, I’m actually a very approachable handso guy.)
Yana nearly bit her tongue.
Her jaw tensed.
Approachable?
Shaless.
Her orange eyes twitched.
A faint pulse beat at her temple.
Only years of discipline stopped her fist from flying.
Julian noticed the strange shift in her expression and lifted a brow.
"...Did I say sothing wrong?"
His voice carried hesitation now.
Yana stared at him.
For a dangerous second, silence stretched between them.
Wrong?
You have no idea.
But she could not say that.
How could she explain she was hearing a voice no one else could hear, and that voice sounded unbearably smug?
Her lips moved slightly before she stopped herself.
Julian gave a small awkward cough.
"If I offended you sohow..."
He paused, looking genuinely confused.
"...that wasn’t my intention."
Inside—
(Though being admired at first sight is understandable.)
Yana’s fingers twitched again.
This man...
No.
This ghost.
This whatever-it-was—
was provoking her on purpose.
She could feel heat threatening to rise in her face, and that only irritated her further.
Before the tension could grow stranger—
"Yana, are you okay?"
Wren Tyson’s voice entered, steady but edged with concern.
He had noticed it at once.
His daughter was not soone who lost composure easily.
Concern lined his usually composed face.
And it certainly wasn’t because of Julian.
A useless second-generation wealthy heir—at least on the surface—normally would not earn even a second glance from his daughter.
Which ant sothing else had disturbed her.
He stepped slightly closer.
"Your breathing changed."
His eyes searched hers.
"What happened?"
Yana t her father’s gaze.
For a mont, she almost spoke.
Almost.
Then Julian awkwardly added from the side—
"Uncle Wren, I only asked if she was alright..."
His tone held a trace of helplessness.
"I’m not sure why Miss Yana looks like she wants to hit ."
A dangerous silence.
Wren looked at him.
Then at Yana.
One brow slowly lifted.
Yana felt her pride suffer another wound.
She inhaled once, carefully smoothing her expression.
Her voice, when it ca, was controlled again.
"Nothing."
Even saying that felt strange.
After several seconds of inner struggle, she realized she truly could not speak of the thoughts she heard.
The more she tried, the tighter that invisible suppression beca.
Fine.
If she could not ask directly...
She would circle around it.
Her mind, always sharp in battle, adapted quickly.
She shifted.
Her tone beca casual—too casual, almost.
"Young Master Julian," she asked, "your family should know quite a few renowned doctors, right? Could you recomnd a few to help my father with his legs?"
Silence settled briefly.
A wind moved through the leaves overhead.
Julian blinked.
Then his golden eyes softened almost imperceptibly.
Ah.
So this was about Wren Tyson.
Concern.
Not interrogation.
For a brief mont he looked at her differently.
Less wild cat.
More daughter.
More human.
He set the water bottle down beside him, fingers tapping lightly against its side.
"There may be so," he said.
Then paused.
The pause stretched just long enough to make Yana lean forward.
Wren Tyson’s gaze also fixed on him.
"But..."
Yana’s voice tightened.
"But?"
Julian rubbed his chin as if sorting through sothing more serious than his usual playful nonsense.
"There are doctors who can treat symptoms."
His tone turned thoughtful, even faintly solemn.
"And there are doctors who understand cause."
The breeze seed to still.
Yana’s orange eyes narrowed.
"You an only so doctor treats symptoms?"
Julian gave a harmless smile.
That infuriating, unreadable smile.
"I didn’t say that."
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