Ling didn't think.
She moved.
Her jacket came off in one sharp motion, soaked and heavy, and she wrapped it around Rhea instead — tugging it tight, pulling the collar up around her neck.
"You're priority," Ling said, voice clipped, final.
Rhea didn't argue. She didn't have the strength.
The rain intensified — the kind that feels solid, like it can bruise. Mud loosened under their feet, stones rolling free.
Then—
A deep, sickening crack.
Not thunder.
The ground.
Rhea felt it first — the earth shifting beneath her sole. "Ling—"
Too late.
The slope to their left gave way, mud and rocks tearing loose, sliding downward with violent force. Trees groaned. Stones slammed into each other, the sound brutal and alive.
"Run!" Ling shouted.
She grabbed Rhea around the waist and half-dragged, half-carried her forward, boots slipping, calves burning. The wind screamed in their ears. Rain blinded them.
Rhea stumbled.
Her legs buckled completely this time.
"I can't—" she gasped. "I can't—"
Ling swore under her breath.
In one decisive motion, she bent and hauled Rhea up — not bridal, not gentle — but solid, desperate, Rhea's arm thrown over her shoulder, Ling's grip iron around her thighs.
"Hold on," Ling ordered. "Do not let go."
Rhea clutched her instinctively, fingers digging into Ling's shirt, face pressed against her neck. She smelled rain, metal, Ling's skin — grounding, terrifyingly real.
Another surge of mud rushed past where they'd been standing seconds ago.
Ling ran.
Each step was pain. Ankles twisting, lungs burning, muscles screaming protest — but she didn't slow. Couldn't.
A rock clipped her calf.
She staggered but didn't fall.
Rhea felt it — the jolt — and tightened her grip. "Ling—stop—"
"No," Ling snapped. "Not now."
Her voice cracked on the edge of fury and fear.
The slope curved suddenly, revealing a jagged outcrop — rock jutting outward, creating a shallow hollow beneath it. Not shelter. But something.
Ling dove for it.
They hit the ground hard, sliding into the narrow space just as another wave of earth thundered past, missing them by a breath.
Mud sprayed over Ling's back.
Silence followed — thick, ringing, broken only by rain and Rhea's shaking breaths.
Ling stayed over her, shielding instinctively, body curved around Rhea like a barrier.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Rhea whispered, voice raw, almost lost in the rain—
"You could've left me."
Ling laughed once — short, breathless, bitter.
"Don't insult me," she said.
Rhea's fingers trembled where they still clutched Ling's shirt. "You don't even like me."
Ling closed her eyes.
"I don't have to like you," she replied quietly. "To not let you die."
The rain kept falling.
Cold seeped deeper.
Ling shifted slightly, checking Rhea's face with sharp, worried eyes. Pale. Shivering hard.
She pulled her closer into the small shelter, back pressed to rock, arms locking Rhea against her chest to preserve warmth.
Rhea didn't resist.
She rested her forehead against Ling's collarbone again, breath uneven.
The ground didn't stop.
The rock above them groaned — a deep, shifting sound that vibrated through Ling's spine.
Her eyes snapped up.
"No—"
She moved instantly, twisting her body, dragging Rhea with her as the outcrop gave way. Stone cracked loose, slabs sliding like broken teeth.
They barely cleared it.
Mud surged again.
Ling lost footing for half a second — just enough.
A sharp, heavy impact cut through the chaos.
A stone.
Fast.
Unforgiving.
Ling turned her head at the last moment, pulling Rhea hard against her neck, tucking her in, shielding her without thought—
CRACK.
Pain exploded behind Ling's eyes.
Warmth spilled down her temple.
"Fuck— fuck— no, not now—" Ling gasped, teeth clenched as she staggered but didn't fall.
Blood blurred her vision.
Rhea felt it before she saw it — the wet heat against her cheek, the way Ling's grip tightened instead of loosening.
"Ling—!" Rhea cried, pulling back just enough to see the blood streaking down Ling's face. "You're bleeding—!"
"I know," Ling snapped, voice hoarse, furious at her own body. "Don't move."
Another rumble shook the slope.
Ling forced herself upright. Her breath hitched, but she shoved the pain down like she always did.
Rhea's hands trembled as she clutched Ling's shoulders. "Stop— you're hurt— this isn't—"
Ling cut her off by pulling her close again, forehead pressed against Rhea's hair, blood smearing slightly.
"If you fall," Ling said low, urgent, "I won't get you back up. So listen to me."
Rhea froze.
"Hold onto me," Ling continued. "Around my neck. Tight. No matter what happens."
Rhea obeyed.
Her arms locked around Ling instinctively, fear burning through her chest.
Ling staggered forward again, half-blind now, rain mixing with blood, jaw clenched so hard it ached. Every step sent pain through her skull, stars flashing at the edge of her vision.
But she didn't slow.
Didn't curse again.
Didn't complain.
The mountain roared around them.
And Rhea realized something terrifying, something she didn't want to know—
Ling wasn't thinking about survival.
She was thinking about Rhea's survival.
"Ling…" Rhea whispered, voice breaking. "Don't you dare—"
Ling laughed softly — a broken sound.
"Quiet," she murmured. "You're too loud when you're scared."
Rain soaked them both.
Blood kept falling.
And still, Ling Kwong kept moving forward, carrying Rhea through the storm like the idea of losing her was worse than death itself.