Feng Yizhou tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking over him before settling on the figure just behind.
Sun Zimo trailed a step behind Haoyu, his shoulders a touch tense but not uncertain. He offered a small, crooked smile as he stepped forward, his voice softer. "Good morning, Brother Feng. Hope you slept better than we did."
That earned him a faint lift of an eyebrow from Feng Yizhou. "Didn't think they'd bunk you in the ventilation shaft."
"It felt like one," Sun Zimo muttered. Then, realizing he'd said it aloud, he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sir."
Feng Yizhou's expression didn't shift much, but there was a subtle glint in his gaze now—something like restrained fondness.
"Come on, then," he said simply.
They fell in beside him, naturally—Haoyu just behind his left shoulder, Sun Zimo a step to the right. It wasn't formation; it was muscle memory.
