Qin Mian felt it in the wrong way.
Not as pain.
Not as pressure.
As absence.
She was sitting on the low concrete edge of a service platform, hands folded loosely in her lap, breathing slow and careful. Her body hurt everywhere it was allowed to hurt. That part was familiar.
What wasn't—
was the gap.
The resonance between them had been thin but steady for a while now. Not warm. Not loud. Just… present. Like a line you could lean against without seeing it.
Then it dipped.
Just a little.
She frowned.
"…No," she whispered.
When Silence Changes Meaning
The Anchor stayed dormant.
Good.
That wasn't the problem.
The problem was that the space she had learned to rest in suddenly felt narrower. Not collapsing—but compressed, like something was being squeezed on the other end.
She pressed her fingers together, concentrating.
This wasn't the city.
This wasn't pressure.
This was him.
Holding too tightly.
Realization Arrives Late
Her breath caught.
"Oh," she murmured.
The understanding landed with a quiet, sick weight.
He's paying for this.
Not dramatically.
Not visibly.
Internally.
She had chosen to wait with him, believing that patience cost nothing but time.
She had been wrong.
The Guilt She Tried Not to Feel
Her chest tightened painfully.
"You idiot," she whispered—though she didn't know which of them she meant.
She had left so he wouldn't burn himself to keep her alive.
Now he was burning himself to stay still.
Her hands trembled.
The Anchor stirred faintly, like a muscle responding to distress.
"No," she said sharply.
She forced it down.
Not yet.
Across the Distance
Somewhere else, Yin Lie leaned against cold concrete, breath shallow, jaw clenched against a pain that had stopped announcing itself.
The drift inside him compressed further, angry, frustrated, searching for release.
He didn't move.
He didn't signal.
He waited.
And in doing so, he unknowingly sent her the truth.
She Tries to Ignore It
Qin Mian stood up too fast.
Her vision darkened briefly, spots dancing at the edges.
She steadied herself, one hand braced against the wall.
"This is not my fault," she told herself.
But the words didn't hold.
Because choice didn't erase consequence.
What She Finally Admits
She sat back down slowly, shoulders slumping.
"If I keep waiting like this," she whispered,
"I'm not protecting him."
Her throat tightened.
"I'm letting him take the damage alone."
The city still hadn't escalated.
The pressure test still hadn't broken her.
And yet—
the balance was tilting somewhere she couldn't see.
The Dangerous Thought
A thought slipped in quietly.
What if I move instead?
Not run.
Not fight.
Just… change something.
The Anchor pulsed again—soft, cautious.
She didn't activate it.
But for the first time since Chapter 147—
she didn't immediately push the idea away.
Two People, One Fault Line
Across the city, Yin Lie exhaled shakily as another wave of internal backlash passed.
He forced himself upright again, even as his hands shook openly now.
Kai watched him, eyes sharp.
"She knows," she said quietly.
Yin Lie didn't answer.
He hoped she didn't.
He feared she did.
The Beginning of a New Risk
Qin Mian looked out at the city—at the quiet flow of systems pretending nothing was wrong.
"If I stay still," she whispered,
"he breaks."
Her jaw set.
"And if I move…"
She didn't finish the thought.
She didn't need to.
Some choices didn't come with safe endings.
The resonance between them tightened again—not stronger, not weaker.
Stressed.
Something had to give.
And for the first time since she chose to wait—
Qin Mian wasn't sure waiting was the kinder choice anymore.