Ling woke slowly.
Not to pain — though it was there, dull and pulsing behind her eyes — but to warmth.
Real warmth.
Her senses came back in fragments.
Fire crackling low.
The smell of smoke and earth.
A steady breath against her throat.
She stiffened.
Her face was pressed into Rhea's neck.
Bare skin.
Soft. Warm. Alive.
Ling froze completely.
Her arm was around Rhea's waist. Rhea's was around her back, instinctive, protective, fingers curled lightly into Ling's back beneath the blanket. Their legs were tangled. No space. No armor. No walls.
Ling became painfully aware of everything at once:
The blanket over bare skin.
The faint scent of Rhea — not perfume, just her.
The slow, trusting rhythm of Rhea's breathing.
The way Rhea hadn't pulled away in sleep.
Her head throbbed harder, as if her body was punishing her for noticing.
Ling swallowed carefully.
This is wrong.
Her jaw tightened.
She tried to shift without waking her — minimal movement, controlled — but the moment she moved, Rhea stirred.
A soft sound left Rhea's throat. Her grip tightened unconsciously.
Ling went still again.
Her heart betrayed her, pounding too fast, too loud.
Get up. Now.
But she didn't.
Instead, her eyes traced what was right in front of her — Rhea's collarbone, the gentle rise of her chest, a mole on Rhea's chest near her left nipple, the faint pink mark where cold had bitten last night. Proof she'd been here. Proof Ling hadn't imagined any of it.
Rhea murmured something unintelligible, forehead brushing Ling's temple.
Ling closed her eyes for half a second.
Just one.
Then Rhea's lashes fluttered.
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
And then she realized where she was.
Where they were.
Her eyes widened slightly — not panic, not embarrassment — something sharper.
Awareness.
They stared at each other at a distance of mm.
Neither spoke.
Ling was the first to move — pulling back just enough to create space, spine straightening despite the ache, expression snapping back into place like armor locking shut.
"This—" Ling started, then stopped.
Rhea watched her closely. Too closely.
Ling cleared her throat. "You were cold."
Rhea arched a brow faintly. "So were you."
Silence again.
The fire popped softly, breaking it.
Ling shifted away fully now, sitting up, blanket slipping but she caught it immediately, wrapping it around herself with practiced control.
Her head swam for a second.
She hid it.
"Didn't ask for this," Ling said flatly, voice steady again. "But… thanks."
Rhea sat up too, gathering the blanket around herself, gaze unreadable. "You were shivering. You would've gotten worse."
Ling nodded once. No argument. No apology.
That scared Rhea more than any insult.
Outside, the storm had passed. Pale morning light filtered through the cracks in the hut.
Ling looked toward the door, already calculating.
"We'll move once the man comes back," she said. "I can walk."
Rhea studied her — the bandage, the stiffness, the way she refused to admit weakness even now.
"You're impossible," Rhea said quietly.
Ling met her gaze.
"And yet," she replied, "you didn't let go."
Something flickered between them.
Then Ling looked away first.
Then she rose too fast.
She grabbed the edge of the blanket, instinctively pulling it with her as she pushed to her feet. Her head spun slightly, irritation flaring at her own weakness.
Rhea reacted instantly.
"If you pull that, I'll be bare," Rhea snapped, fingers tightening around the blanket.
Ling, half-standing, half-dizzy, shot back without thinking, "So what should I do—sleep forever?"
And then she stood anyway.
Rhea yanked the blanket back on pure reflex.
Hard.
Ling lost balance.
Time fractured into a single, useless second.
She fell forward.
Not gracefully.
Violently.
Her hands hit first, bracing on either side of Rhea's shoulders — and then—
Their lips touched.
A soft, stunned collision.
Warm. Real.
Too close.
Rhea's eyes flew open wide, breath caught sharp in her throat. Ling froze completely above her, muscles locked, heart slamming so hard it drowned out the crackle of the dying fire.
Neither moved.
Neither breathed.
The world narrowed to the point where Ling could feel Rhea's breath against her mouth — not a kiss, not a mistake, something worse.
An accident that felt deliberate.
Ling pulled back instantly, as if burned, sitting upright with rigid control, hand flying to steady herself.
"That—" she started, then stopped.
Rhea touched her own lips unconsciously, shock flickering into anger like a shield snapping into place.
"You're unbelievable," Rhea said, voice sharp but uneven.
Ling stood again, slower this time, jaw clenched hard. "You're the one who pulled."
Rhea scoffed. "You're the one who fell."
Silence slammed between them, heavy and electric.
Ling looked away first, spine straight, blanket secured now, composure forced back into place piece by piece.
"Get dressed," she said coldly. "We'll leave when the man returns."
Rhea watched her turn her back.
Her lips still tingled.
And for the first time since this whole nightmare began, Rhea realized something terrifying—
If that hadn't been an accident,
she wasn't sure she would've stopped it.
Ling finished changing last.
She turned back instinctively — not to look, she told herself, just to check the door, the fire, the space — and that was when she saw it.
A darkened smear just below Rhea's navel.
Dried blood.
Not much. But enough.
Ling's gaze locked there for a fraction too long before she caught herself. Her jaw tightened, expression sharpening into something unreadable.
"You're bleeding," she said flatly.
Rhea looked down, then shrugged, casual to the point of cruelty. "Old news."
Ling took a step closer before she realized she was moving. Stopped herself just in time.
"That piercing," Ling added. "It tore last night."
Rhea's fingers brushed the spot instinctively. She winced — quick, annoyed at herself. "It's fine."
Ling didn't answer immediately.
Her hands flicked to the bandage around her own head, then eyes back to Rhea's waist. Calculation. Assessment. Control trying to reassert itself.
"You pulled without checking," Ling said. Not accusing. Stating fact.
Rhea looked up sharply. "I was holding you up."
"I know," Ling replied — too fast.
Silence stretched.
The fire popped once, low.
Rhea straightened, chin lifting, armor sliding back into place. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" Ling asked coolly.
"Like you're responsible."
Ling held her gaze.
"I don't look at things I'm not responsible for," she said.
Rhea scoffed, but it lacked heat. "Then stop."
Ling turned away abruptly, grabbing her jacket, shrugging it on despite the stiffness in her shoulders.
"We'll clean it properly when we get back," she said, voice clipped. "Infection here isn't a joke."
Rhea watched her back, fingers still resting lightly near her navel.
"You don't get to care," Rhea said quietly. "Not like that."
Ling paused at the door.
Just for a second.
Then: "I don't."
But the way she didn't turn around said otherwise.