Qin Mian knew exactly where the line was.
She could feel it.
Not with her eyes, not with instruments or systems—but with the Anchor buried deep inside her chest. The protection radius around Yin Lie wasn't a circle drawn on the floor. It was a shifting boundary of intent, recalculating every fraction of a second.
Anything that crossed it too fast was a threat.
Anything that carried instability was a threat.
Anything that made her unsafe—
was eliminated.
And now, she was about to step into it.
The Last Warning
"Don't," Kai said sharply.
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't reach out.
She knew better.
"If you cross that line," Kai continued, eyes locked on the frost-covered floor, "his body will react before you finish the step. I won't be able to pull you back."
Qin Mian nodded.
"I know."
Her hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From certainty.
The Radius Is Alive
The air changed as Qin Mian took her first step forward.
Frost crept toward her feet, thin lines racing across the floor like veins seeking a pulse. The temperature dropped sharply, breath turning white in her lungs.
Yin Lie's body twitched.
His fingers curled slightly.
The instinct had noticed.
Kai's jaw tightened.
"Qin Mian—"
She didn't stop.
No Running, No Sudden Movement
Qin Mian moved slowly.
Painfully so.
Each step was measured, deliberate, her weight shifting inch by inch as she forced her breathing to remain even. She kept her hands visible, palms open, Anchor pulled inward instead of flaring.
I'm not a threat, she told herself.
I'm not unstable. I'm not running.
The protection loop evaluated her.
And did not strike.
Yet.
The Ice Answers First
A sharp crack split the floor.
A spike of ice erupted less than a meter in front of her, stopping just short of her knees. Distortion rippled around it, space folding slightly inward.
Qin Mian froze.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
This wasn't a warning.
This was hesitation.
She swallowed hard and took another step.
The City Holds Its Breath
Above them, monitors flickered wildly.
"She's inside the hazard radius," an analyst whispered.
The Director's eyes never left the feed.
"Do not intervene," she said calmly.
"If we interfere now, his response will escalate."
Someone hesitated.
"But if she—"
"She already chose," the Director replied.
Pain as Proof of Life
The moment Qin Mian crossed the halfway mark, pain exploded through her chest.
She gasped, dropping to one knee as her Anchor flared violently—not outward, but inward, compressed by the hostile resonance around her.
Blood spilled from the corner of her mouth.
Her vision blurred.
But she didn't retreat.
"Lie," she whispered hoarsely.
"It's me."
His body reacted instantly.
Ice surged.
The floor behind her shattered as a wave of frozen distortion tore backward—cutting off any retreat.
Kai swore under her breath.
"She's trapped herself."
The Instinct Recognizes Her—Wrongly
Yin Lie's head shifted slightly.
His brow furrowed.
The protection loop surged again, pressure spiking as the system tried to classify the intrusion.
Threat.
Source of instability.
High risk.
Ice crawled toward Qin Mian's torso, sharp and fast.
She screamed as frost burned across her skin.
"No!" she cried.
"Not like this—!"
She forced her Anchor open.
Not wide.
Not strong.
Just enough to touch him.
Contact
The moment her Anchor brushed his—
everything broke.
The feedback loop screamed as resonance slammed together, uncontrolled and violent. Ice shattered outward, distortion collapsing in on itself as space warped unpredictably.
Qin Mian was thrown forward.
Hard.
She slammed into Yin Lie's chest, the impact knocking the breath from both of them.
Pain detonated through her ribs.
Something cracked.
But she was inside the radius now.
The Protection Loop Fails
Yin Lie's body froze.
Not in ice.
In conflict.
Every defensive response fired at once—and canceled itself out.
The instinct could not reconcile the data.
Threat detected.
Anchor signature matched.
Emotional priority conflict.
The loop stalled.
Ice stopped spreading.
The distortion snapped back violently, sending a shockwave outward that knocked Kai off her feet and shattered nearby containment fields.
Then—
silence.
Qin Mian Holds Him Together
Qin Mian clung to Yin Lie, shaking violently, blood soaking into his clothes.
Her Anchor burned like fire in her chest, barely holding against the backlash.
She pressed her forehead against his.
"I'm here," she sobbed.
"I'm not leaving."
Her hands found his face.
He was ice-cold.
But breathing.
Barely.
The First Sign He Knows
Yin Lie's fingers twitched.
Slow.
Uncoordinated.
They brushed against her sleeve.
Not defensive.
Not violent.
Just… searching.
Qin Mian sucked in a sharp breath.
"…Lie?" she whispered.
His lips parted slightly.
No words came.
But the ice beneath them cracked.
And did not reform.
The Director Sees the Impossible
The Director stared at the feed in silence.
"…She broke the loop," she said quietly.
An aide whispered, "How?"
The Director didn't answer.
Because the answer was not tactical.
It was human.
End of the Chapter
Qin Mian knelt inside the protection radius, holding a man who could no longer protect himself.
The ice had stopped spreading.
The distortion had settled.
Yin Lie lay unconscious—but no longer attacking the world.
The cost was written across both their bodies in blood and fractures.
But for the first time since the city turned hostile—
the countdown paused.
Not because the system chose to stop.
But because Qin Mian stepped into the place
where death was supposed to be certain—
and refused to let it finish the job.