The moment Rhea settled behind her, Ling twisted the throttle.
The bike surged forward.
Wind ripped through the trees, dust rising, the forest blurring into streaks of green and shadow. The speed wasn't reckless — it was deliberate. Controlled. Assertive.
Too fast.
Rhea's fingers tightened instantly around Ling's jacket.
"Slow down!" she shouted over the engine. "Are you insane?"
Ling didn't.
She leaned into the curve instead, posture flawless, bike responding like an extension of her body.
"We're late," Ling replied coolly. "Everyone's already far ahead."
Another turn. Sharper.
Rhea's breath hitched. "You're doing this on purpose."
Ling laughed softly — carried away by the wind. "You're observant."
"Ling," Rhea snapped, voice edged now, "this isn't funny."
Ling finally eased the speed just a fraction — enough to speak clearly, not enough to comfort.
"No signals," Ling said evenly. "No map."
She glanced at the empty trail ahead.
"And you insisted on walking."
Rhea stiffened behind her.
"Miss attitude," Ling continued calmly, "welcome to consequences."
Rhea leaned closer despite herself, voice low and furious near Ling's ear. "If we get lost—"
Ling cut her off. "Then we adapt."
Another acceleration.
Rhea gasped and cursed under her breath, arms wrapping tighter around Ling's waist now — not by choice, not by pride, but by instinct.
Ling noticed.
Of course she did.
Her jaw tightened.
She didn't comment.
Didn't slow further.
The forest swallowed the path ahead, deeper now, darker — unfamiliar.
The other bikes were gone.
Only engine noise. Only wind. Only the press of Rhea against her back, warm and real and undeniable.
Ling spoke again, quieter this time.
"You wanted independence."
A pause.
"This is it."
Rhea pressed her forehead briefly against Ling's shoulder, anger mixing dangerously with fear.
"Don't lose control," Rhea muttered.
Ling's grip on the handlebar tightened.
"I never do," she said.
But her pulse betrayed her.
Because Rhea was holding on.
The bike slowed.
Then stopped.
Dust settled slowly around the tires as the engine idled, the forest pressing close on all sides. The path they'd been riding split abruptly ahead.
Three directions.
Left — narrow, dark, choked with roots.
Center — wider, but descending, swallowed by thick foliage.
Right — uneven, climbing slightly, rocks scattered like warning signs.
No signs.
No markers.
No voices.
Ling shut the engine off.
The sudden silence was loud.
She dismounted slowly, scanning the paths with sharp, calculating eyes. Her confidence didn't falter — but something in her jaw tightened.
Rhea slid off behind her, arms lingering for half a second before she caught herself and stepped back.
She looked around.
Then at Ling.
"Great," Rhea said flatly. "Now what?"
Ling pulled her phone out, checked it once, then slid it back into her pocket.
"No signal," she said. "Nothing."
Rhea crossed her arms, trying to keep her voice steady. "So? Which way, Ms. Control?"
Ling studied the terrain again — footprints, broken twigs, the way the ground was disturbed. Her eyes moved with precision, like she was reading a language others couldn't.
"Left's a dead end," Ling said. "Too narrow. No recent tracks."
Rhea frowned. "And you know that how?"
Ling pointed at the ground. "No tire marks. Just animals."
Rhea swallowed, barely noticeable.
"The center path goes downhill," Ling continued. "Water nearby. That's either good or very bad."
"And the right?" Rhea asked.
Ling hesitated for the first time.
"Climbs," she said. "Harder ride. But open."
Rhea stared at the trees, shadows thickening as clouds drifted over the sun.
"So," she said quietly, "you don't know."
Ling met her gaze.
"No," she admitted.
The word landed heavier than any insult she'd thrown all day.
Rhea searched her face — not mocking now, not challenging.
Something else.
"You asked me," Rhea said slowly. "Why?"
Ling didn't look away. "Because you're here."
A beat.
"And because," Ling added, voice lower, "if we choose wrong, it affects both of us."
The forest breathed around them.
Three paths.
No signal.
No backup.
Only choice.
Rhea stepped closer, eyes scanning the right path again.
"Go up," she said.
Ling raised a brow.
"If we're lost," Rhea continued, "higher ground gives visibility. And air."
Ling considered it.
Then nodded once.
"Right it is."
She swung back onto the bike, waiting — not looking — until Rhea climbed on behind her.
As the engine roared back to life, Ling said quietly, almost to herself—
"Stay close."
Rhea did.
The climb was rough.
Loose stones rattled under the tires, branches whipping past as Ling pushed the bike harder than the path wanted to allow. She wasn't holding back anymore — no teasing, no performance. Just momentum and instinct.
Rhea felt it instantly.
The bike jerked once — sharp.
Then again — violent enough to snap her breath short.
"Ling—" Rhea started.
A third jolt hit.
Hard.
Metal screamed.
The engine sputtered — coughed — then died.
Silence slammed down.
The bike rolled a few more feet uphill before stopping completely, tilted at an awkward angle.
Rhea's hands tightened reflexively around Ling's jacket.
Ling planted her boots fast, stabilizing them before gravity could win. Her breathing was controlled, but her shoulders were tense now.
"Get off," Ling said immediately.
Rhea did, boots slipping slightly on gravel before she caught her balance.
"What happened?" Rhea asked, pulse loud in her ears.
Ling crouched beside the bike, inspecting it fast — too fast for calm. She flipped a switch, tried the ignition.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Dead.
Her jaw clenched.
"Chain slipped," Ling said. "Or fuel line."
Rhea stared at the silent machine. "Fix it."
Ling shot her a look. "I'm trying."
She checked beneath, fingers already dirty, movements sharp and practiced — but the damage wasn't simple. The bike had taken a hit underneath.
Ling leaned back slowly.
It wasn't fear in her eyes.
It was calculation meeting reality.
Rhea felt it before she heard it.
"So?" Rhea said quietly. "Can you?"
Ling didn't answer immediately.
She stood, wiping her hands against her jacket, eyes lifting to the trees — thick, enclosing, indifferent.
"No," Ling said finally. "Not here. Not now."
The word hit harder than silence.
Rhea swallowed. "So we're—"
"Stranded," Ling finished. Flat. Honest.
The forest shifted — a bird took off, leaves rustled deeper inside. The light felt thinner here, filtered wrong through branches.
Rhea crossed her arms tightly, forcing her voice steady. "You said you never lose control."
Ling looked at her.
"I said I never lose focus," Ling corrected.
A pause.
"This," she added quietly, "is different."
Rhea exhaled slowly, fighting the rise of panic she refused to show.
"No signal," she said. "No bike. No group."
Ling nodded once. "We walk."
Rhea looked uphill. Then back the way they came — paths already blending into green.
"And night?" Rhea asked.
Ling met her gaze, something protective slipping through before she crushed it.
"Then we don't panic," Ling said. "We don't separate."
Another sound moved through the forest — closer this time, indistinct.
Rhea's fingers curled at her sides.
"This is on you," she said, anger tight around fear.
Ling stepped closer, voice low, grounded. "I know."
And that — the certainty, the refusal to deflect — unsettled Rhea more than the breakdown itself.
Because Ling wasn't running.
She was staying.
And now, with the bike dead behind them and the forest alive around them, there was no distance left to hide behind.
Only choices.
And each other.