Ling shifted gears deliberately.
Not reckless.
Not obvious.
Just enough pressure. Just enough timing.
The bike ahead — the one carrying Rhea — wobbled.
The boy cursed under his breath, arms stiffening as the tires skidded for half a second before he fought it back into line.
Rhea felt it instantly.
"Stop," she snapped, voice sharp as a blade. "Stop the bike. Now."
The boy didn't argue. He slowed and pulled aside immediately, fear stronger than pride.
Rhea swung off in one clean motion, boots hitting dirt hard.
"Pathetic, Go." she said coldly.
The boy hesitated — then left, engine roaring away like escape.
Dust settled.
Ling rolled her bike to a stop a few meters ahead and didn't turn back.
Didn't offer.
Didn't acknowledge.
Rhea stood there, chest rising fast, fury flashing hot and bright.
"Wow," she said loudly. "So this is your idea of leadership?"
Ling finally looked over her shoulder, eyes lazy, dangerous.
"You stopped," Ling said calmly. "Not my problem."
Rhea stepped forward. "Stop now. I'll sit."
Ling tilted her head. "What?"
Her lips curved faintly. "Didn't hear you. Say it louder."
Rhea stared at her.
Her jaw tightened.
Her pride flared.
She didn't repeat herself.
Instead, she turned — sharp, decisive — and started walking down the trail on foot, boots crunching over gravel, spine straight, fury radiating off her like heat.
Ling blinked once.
Then laughed.
Not loud.
Not kind.
She started the engine again and rolled forward — slow, deliberate — matching Rhea's pace on the bike, riding beside her like a shadow.
"You know," Ling said lightly, voice carrying just enough, "walking builds character."
Rhea didn't look at her. "Get lost."
Ling leaned closer on the bike, teasing now. "Careful. Uneven ground. Wouldn't want you to fall."
Rhea shot her a glare sharp enough to cut steel. "You're enjoying this."
Ling smiled without warmth. "Immensely."
She kept pace with her — not offering a seat, not leaving her behind — just there, constant, infuriating.
A presence Rhea couldn't escape.
Students farther ahead glanced back nervously but didn't dare intervene.
Because this wasn't about bikes anymore.
Ling let the bike roll beside Rhea, slow enough to be cruel.
The trees thickened ahead — taller, darker, swallowing light the deeper the trail cut in. The sound of the other bikes had faded now, engines distant, voices gone.
Ling tilted her head, gaze flicking to the forest like she was casually inspecting territory.
"You know," she said lightly, "this path cuts straight through the center of the jungle."
Rhea kept walking, jaw tight.
Ling continued, voice almost amused.
"Everyone else will keep going. Assigned routes. Partners."
She glanced at Rhea's boots hitting dirt.
"And you'll be here," Ling added calmly. "Walking. Alone."
Rhea didn't slow.
Ling leaned a little closer, lowering her voice.
"By nightfall? This place gets… loud."
She gestured vaguely toward the trees.
"Animals. No lights. No signal."
A pause.
"Oh," Ling said, mock concern slipping in perfectly, "and once the sun drops—getting out alone becomes… complicated."
Rhea stopped.
Completely.
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
She turned slowly, eyes sharp, searching Ling's face — not for arrogance, not for dominance.
For intention.
"Are you scaring me?" Rhea asked quietly.
Ling stopped the bike.
She planted one boot on the ground and looked at her fully now.
Then she smiled.
Not wide.
Not playful.
Controlled. Certain.
"Why," Ling said softly, "would I need to?"
The smile lingered just long enough to unsettle.
Rhea's spine stiffened.
Because Ling wasn't threatening.
She was stating facts.
And that was worse.
Wind moved through the trees, leaves whispering low and constant.
Ling straightened, engine humming beneath her like a living thing.
"Come on," she added casually. "You'll slow everyone down."
Rhea held her gaze for a second longer — pride clashing violently with instinct.
Then she turned back toward the path.
Ling didn't move.
She rested one arm casually on the handlebar, eyes steady, voice maddeningly calm.
"Say please,"she said. "And I'll let you on."
Rhea laughed once — sharp, defensive. "I'd rather walk."
Ling's brow lifted. "Suit yourself."
She nodded toward the trees again, unbothered. "Wild animals get bold around dusk."
Rhea's eyes flashed. "I'm already dealing with one."
That earned her a real smile.
"Fair," Ling said lightly. "Then this wild animal will leave you to let you deal with others too."
She kicked the gear.
The bike rolled forward.
Slow at first. Controlled. Like she was giving Rhea time to reconsider.
Then she picked up speed.
Gravel sprayed.
The sound of the engine pulled away — not fast enough to vanish, just far enough to feel intentional.
Rhea stood still.
Too still.
The forest closed in the second the noise thinned — birds quieting, wind threading through leaves, shadows stretching wrong. The path ahead suddenly felt longer. Narrower.
Empty.
Her chest tightened before she allowed herself to acknowledge it.
"Ling," she muttered under her breath.
No answer.
Another step forward.
The silence pressed harder.
Then —
"Stop!" Rhea shouted, voice cracking despite her. "Stop, idiot!"
The engine cut instantly.
Ling didn't turn the bike around right away.
She waited.
Just long enough.
Then she rolled back slowly, dust settling around her boots as she stopped inches from Rhea.
She looked down at her — expression unreadable, eyes dark.
"Yes?" Ling asked evenly.
Rhea's jaw clenched. Her pride screamed. Her pulse screamed louder.
"Just—" she started, then stopped herself.
Ling waited.
Patient.
Dangerous.
Rhea swallowed. "Stop playing games."
Ling leaned slightly closer. "You called me back."
Silence stretched.
Rhea's fists clenched at her sides. "I'm not asking."
Ling's gaze softened by exactly nothing. "You already did."
Rhea looked away, furious — at the forest, at the silence, at herself.
"Fine," she said through her teeth. "Let me on."
Ling studied her for a long second.
Then she moved the bike just enough to make space behind her.
No comment.
No victory speech.
Just acceptance.
As Rhea climbed on, hands hovering awkwardly before settling at Ling's waist, Ling said quietly — so only she could hear—
"Next time," Ling murmured, "don't pretend you don't need anyone."
The engine roared back to life.
And the forest watched as pride, once again, lost to proximity.