The doctor stepped out quietly.
"She'll wake up soon," she informed the waiting guests, professional and calm. "Panic-induced syncope. She's stable."
Relief rippled through the corridor.
Ling didn't hear it.
She closed the door herself—slow, deliberate.
Click.
The lock sounded final.
Outside, the party resumed on Ling's single command. Music softened. Laughter forced its way back into the mansion, pretending nothing had happened.
Inside, silence breathed.
Ling stood with her back to the door, shoulders rigid, chest rising unevenly. The room smelled faintly of blood, perfume, and fear—hers.
Then—
Soft footsteps.
Dadi.
Ling turned and opened door just as her grandmother reached her. For the first time tonight, Ling didn't brace herself. She stepped forward—and hugged her.
Hard.
Like a child afraid the world might fall apart if she let go.
Dadi's arms wrapped around her instantly, warm, grounding. One hand slid up Ling's back, steady, slow.
"There," dadi murmured. "Breathe."
Ling's jaw trembled. She swallowed, eyes burning.
Dadi pulled back just enough to look at her face. Her sharp, knowing eyes softened—but missed nothing.
"So," she said gently, teasing woven with truth, "have you gone that far in falling in lo—"
"NO."
The word came too fast. Too loud.
Ling straightened immediately, cold mask snapping back into place. "I'm not—this is nothing. She's just—"
Dadi raised an eyebrow.
Ling faltered.
"…a complication," Ling finished weakly.
Dadi smiled. Not amused. Not mocking.
Knowing.
She cupped Ling's cheek, thumb brushing away a tear Ling hadn't realized had escaped.
"You can lie to the world," dadi said softly. "You've mastered that."
Her thumb pressed lightly, grounding. "But don't insult me by lying to me I know you."
Ling looked away, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the far wall where Rhea lay unconscious—out of sight but nowhere near out of mind.
"I don't fall," Ling said, voice low, defensive. "I control."
Dadi nodded. "And tonight," she replied quietly, "control slipped."
Ling's hands clenched.
Dadi leaned closer, forehead touching Ling's briefly—a rare intimacy. "Listen to me. She will be fine."
Ling exhaled shakily.
"And you?" dadi continued. "You're terrified not because she was trapped."
Ling's breath hitched.
"You're terrified," dadi finished, "because for the first time, you realized you could lose her."
Silence stretched.
Ling didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Dadi smiled sadly, stroking Ling's hair. "Rest. Sit. Pretend you're still made of steel if you must."
"But remember this, my fierce girl—"
"When fear finds you, it means something precious already has."
Dadi took two steps toward the desk, opened a drawer she had no right knowing about, and pulled out the first-aid kit Ling kept untouched—like everything else meant for weakness.
"Sit," dadi said.
Ling shook her head instantly. "I'll do it later."
Her voice was firm. Controlled. Almost convincing.
Dadi looked at her knuckles—raw, split, still bleeding faintly. Then she looked back at Ling's face.
"No," she said softly. Not a command. A refusal to accept the lie.
Ling crossed her arms. "Dadi, it's nothing."
Dadi smiled—a slow, dangerous smile that had once reduced Victor Kwong to silence. "You bleed," she replied. "That already makes it something."
Ling exhaled sharply, turning away. "I don't need—"
Dadi caught her wrist gently but firmly.
The touch stopped her.
"You can fight the world," Dadi said, easing Ling down onto the edge of the bed. "But you don't fight me."
Ling didn't resist further. Her shoulders slumped just a fraction—enough to betray exhaustion.
Dadi cleaned the wounds with practiced care. Ling hissed once, jaw tightening, but didn't pull away.
"Hurts?" Dadi asked, not looking up.
Ling scoffed weakly. "I've had worse."
Dadi wrapped the gauze slowly, deliberately. "This didn't hurt because of pain," she said. "It hurt because you were afraid."
Ling went still.
Dadi finished bandaging, fingers warm, steady. She patted Ling's hand once, like grounding a storm.
"Fear doesn't make you small," Dadi continued quietly. "It makes you human."
Ling stared at the white bandage like it was foreign.
"I don't like being human," she muttered.
Dadi chuckled under her breath. "Of course you don't. It means you can lose."
She stood, then paused at the door.
"But tonight," she added gently, "being human saved her."
The door closed softly.
Ling remained seated then her eyes went to Rhea.
Eyes burning.
Heart traitorously loud.
And for the first time, she didn't know whether she was more afraid of losing Rhea—
Or of what it meant that the thought destroyed her.