Eliza entered the courtyard without announcement.
Her presence always changed the air—controlled, elegant, purposeful. She stopped when she saw Rina seated beside Dadi, eyes narrowing just slightly.
"Where is Ling?" Eliza asked immediately.
Rina stood. "She's taking a shower. She went straight upstairs."
Eliza's shoulders eased a fraction. "Good. She needs rest."
Dadi watched her over the rim of her untouched tea. "She needs peace," Dadi corrected gently.
Eliza sat opposite them, smoothing her dress with precise fingers. "Peace comes from removing threats."
Rina's jaw tightened, but she stayed quiet.
Dadi leaned back. "You're talking about the girl."
Eliza didn't deny it. "Rhea Nior."
The name was spoken like a verdict.
"She's not good for Ling," Eliza continued. "She's fire. Uncontained. That kind of fire doesn't warm—it burns."
Dadi's eyes sharpened. "Fire also tempers steel."
Eliza looked at her, frustration flickering beneath composure. "Steel that bends shatters."
"She won't bend," Dadi said calmly. "She'll learn."
Eliza shook her head. "You didn't see her on that trip. Mira told me everything."
Rina finally spoke, voice steady but firm. "Mira told you her version."
Eliza turned toward her. "Are you saying she lied?"
"I'm saying she curated," Rina replied.
Silence fell.
Dadi placed her cup down. "Eliza, you love Ling. No one questions that."
"She is my daughter," Eliza said sharply. "Everything I've built is for her."
"And yet," Dadi said softly, "you're treating her like something fragile that must be locked away."
Eliza's eyes hardened. "Because I've seen what happens when women like Ling fall for women like that girl."
Rina frowned. "What do you mean?"
Eliza stood abruptly, pacing once. "Rhea Nior doesn't submit. She provokes. She challenges Ling's control. Today it's tension. Tomorrow it's distraction. And then—collapse."
Dadi watched her carefully. "Ling has never collapsed."
"She will," Eliza snapped. Then caught herself, inhaling slowly. "If this continues."
Dadi rose as well, moving closer to her daughter-in-law. Her voice softened, but the authority in it was unmistakable.
"You're afraid," Dadi said. "Not of Rhea. Of what Ling feels."
Eliza's hands clenched. "I have to be."
She met Dadi's gaze, eyes fierce with maternal terror.
"I have to," Eliza repeated already turning to go. "Because if that girl gets close enough, she will burn my daughter—and I will not stand by and watch My Proud Ling Kwong turn to ash."
Upstairs, unseen, unheard, Ling turned off the shower.
Water dripped down her hair, along her jaw, onto the marble floor.
She stood very still.
Fire, they said.
Ling wrapped a towel around herself, eyes dark, expression unreadable.
She had never been afraid of fire.
But for the first time, she wondered what would happen if she chose to walk into it anyway.
Eliza knocked once.
Not loud.
Not hesitant.
Ling's voice came immediately from inside. "Come in."
The door opened to steam and the faint scent of body wash.
Ling stood near the vanity, towel draped around her shoulders, hair damp and loose—rarely seen like this. She was drying it herself, movements efficient, almost mechanical.
Eliza paused.
This was her child stripped of armor.
She crossed the room and gently took the dryer from Ling's hand.
"Sit," Eliza said softly.
Ling hesitated for half a second.
Then she obeyed.
Eliza plugged the dryer back in and began to dry Ling's hair herself, fingers guiding strands with practiced care. It was something she'd done when Ling was younger, back when control still passed as tenderness.
"You didn't even come downstairs," Eliza said lightly. "Dadi was looking for you."
"I knew," Ling replied. "I'll see her later."
Eliza adjusted the heat, deliberately gentle. "How was the trip?"
Ling's reflection met hers in the mirror.
"Fine."
Eliza smiled faintly. "That word again. You use it when you don't want questions."
Ling didn't respond.
Eliza worked slowly, letting the silence soften before speaking again. "Jungles aren't your environment. No structure. No comfort."
"I adapt," Ling said.
"I know," Eliza replied. "You always do."
She tilted Ling's head slightly, careful, affectionate. "But adaptation costs energy. You look… tired."
Ling's jaw tightened. "I'm not."
Eliza pretended not to notice.
"Did you enjoy anything?" she asked gently. "The ride? The challenge?"
Ling's fingers twitched on her knees.
The bike.
The storm.
The tent.
The warmth she hadn't asked for.
"Yes," Ling said quietly.
Eliza's hand stilled for half a second before resuming.
"With whom?" she asked, casual on the surface.
Ling's gaze sharpened in the mirror. "Does it matter?"
Eliza smiled—soft, maternal, practiced. "Only because I care."
The dryer hummed between them.
"I heard there was… tension because of her," Eliza continued carefully. "Rhea who doesn't know her place."
Ling's shoulders squared.
"She knows exactly where she stands," Ling said.
"And where is that?" Eliza asked.
Ling held her mother's gaze in the mirror. Unflinching.
"Not yours to decide."
The air shifted.
Eliza turned the dryer off.
Silence filled the room.
She rested a hand on Ling's shoulder, grip firm but affectionate. "I want you safe," she said quietly. "That's all."
Ling stood, taking the dryer back and placing it aside.
"I am safe," she said.
Eliza studied her—this tall, controlled, dangerous woman she had raised.
She leaned in and kissed Ling's forehead.
"You've always been strong," Eliza murmured. "Just remember—fire doesn't ask before it burns."
Ling didn't answer.
But when Eliza left, Ling remained standing in front of the mirror long after her hair had dried.
Strong.
Safe.
Fire.
For the first time, those words felt like choices—not truths.
The door burst open without a knock.
"Oh, so madam ruler of the universe has time for showers but not her own Dadi?"
Ling startled—then froze.
Dadi stood there, cane in one hand, the other dramatically planted on her hip, face twisted into exaggerated offense.
"I'm not talking to you," Dadi declared loudly, turning her face away. "Don't look at me. Don't greet me. I have been abandoned."
Ling's control cracked.
Her eyes were already burning, already glassy, and Dadi knew it—knew exactly how to arrive when silence became dangerous.
Ling let out a shaky breath and smiled, small and helpless, the kind she never showed anyone else.
"I knew you'd do this," Ling whispered.
Dadi peeked at her from the corner of her eye. "Do what?"
"Save me," Ling said, voice breaking.
That was all it took.
Ling crossed the room in two steps and wrapped her arms around Dadi—tight, desperate, like she was afraid to let go. Her face pressed into Dadi's shoulder as the tears finally spilled.
"I missed you," Ling cried softly. "I really missed you."
Dadi's expression melted instantly.
"Oh, my fierce child," she murmured, hugging her back just as tightly, one hand cradling Ling's head. "You think I wouldn't notice when you don't come running?"
Ling shook in her arms, tears soaking into Dadi's shawl. She didn't try to hide them. Not here. Never here.
"I didn't want to worry you," Ling whispered.
Dadi pulled back just enough to look at her. "You worry me when you don't come."
Ling laughed weakly through tears.
Dadi wiped Ling's cheeks with her thumb, scolding gently. "You've been carrying too much. You forget—you don't have to be steel all the time."
Ling swallowed hard. "I don't know how to stop."
Dadi hugged her again, firmer this time. "Then don't stop. Just rest. In my arms, if nowhere else."
Ling clung to her, breathing slowly evening out, forehead resting against Dadi's shoulder like she used to as a child.
For a few quiet moments, there was no ruler, no expectations, no fire.
Just a granddaughter who had missed her safe place.
And a Dadi who knew exactly when to arrive to catch her before she broke.