Page 40 of The Immortal’s Mark

“Eight hundred years of experience. I’ve toppled dynasties. Exposed conspiracies that rewrote history.” I squint at the ledger. “And I still can’t tell if this is a seven or a one.”

Ren laughs.

Not a polite sound. Not the careful almost-smile I’ve been cataloging against my better judgment—that controlled curve of his mouth that appears and disappears like he’s rationing something precious.

This is an actual laugh. Unexpected. Warm. Cut short like he surprised himself with it, like the sound escaped before he could catch it and now he doesn’t quite know what to do with the silence it leaves behind.

My heart does a traitorous little stutter.

That’s a problem.

His laugh is a problem. The way his face changed for half a second—open, unguarded, human—that’s definitely a problem. The way I want to hear it again is a problem I’m not going to think about.

Don’t.

“Something amusing about my illiteracy?” My voice is almost steady. Almost.

“Something amusing about you.” He’s not looking at me now. Looking at documents. But the corner of his mouth is still tilted, and he’s not trying to hide it.

I focus on the money. The money doesn’t laugh. The money doesn’t have a voice that does things to my pulse. The money doesn’t look at me like I’m something worth being amused by.

Professional. We’re tracking financial records. This is professional.

I’m in trouble.

I need to check something in the archives.

That’s what I tell myself. That’s the excuse I use to put distance between us, because the laugh is sitting in my chest like something I swallowed wrong and I need to not be in a room with him right now.

Numbers don’t laugh. Numbers are safe.

Back in the archives. Alone this time—I sent Jing away, claimed I needed to concentrate. She looked hurt. I’ll deal with that later. Probably won’t deal with it at all.

I pull the supply manifests. Cross-reference them with the payment intermediary locations. Something’s been nagging at me since yesterday, a pattern I couldn’t quite see.

Now I see it.

The discrepancies in Wei’s supply chain. The ones I noticed days ago, the grain shipments that didn’t add up, the warehouse that shouldn’t exist.

The money flows through there.

Not from Wei—the pattern predates his current command by years. Someone using his infrastructure. His supply routes. His carefully maintained sloppiness.

“Third party,” I murmur. “Has to be.”

But which third party? Wei’s a blunt instrument. He’s not smart enough to set this up, and he’s not careful enough to hide it properly. Someone else built this. Someone with access to military logistics and the intelligence to use them.

I should tell Ren.

I don’t.

I’ve watched kings execute innocents on accusations. I’ve been hired by some of them. A name without proof is a weapon, and weapons don’t care who they hurt.

He’ll want evidence. I’ll give him evidence. Not suspicion.

This is the kind of information that gets innocent men killed. Or guilty men protected. I need to know which before I hand it over.

The records point to the warehouse. Same one the payment trail leads to.