Then—
Shouting.
Running footsteps.
"MOVE."
Ling's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
She didn't slow.
Didn't assess.
Didn't think.
She sprinted and launched herself forward, boots skidding as she threw her body against the railing.
One arm shot out—hand gripping the metal with brutal force.
The other caught both of Rhea's wrists mid-slip.
Impact jolted through Ling's shoulder, pain exploding down her arm as Rhea's full weight yanked against her.
Ling grunted but didn't loosen her hold.
"Don't let go," Ling growled—low, fierce, shaking with strain.
Rhea looked up.
Saw her.
Ling Kwong—hair flying, jaw clenched, eyes wild with something dangerously close to terror.
"I've got you," Ling said. Soft. Comforting.
Rhea's fingers trembled around Ling's wrist.
Her fear spiked—heights, loss of control, air trapped in her chest.
"I—can't—" Rhea gasped.
Ling leaned further over the railing, muscles screaming, one leg braced back, body acting as an anchor.
"Look at me," Ling ordered.
Rhea did.
Ling's eyes locked onto hers, unblinking.
"Breathe," Ling said, voice tight but steady. "Now."
Rhea did.
Ling adjusted her grip, fingers digging in harder, skin burning where metal and bone met.
She didn't let go.
She wouldn't.
Zifa found her footing and grabbed Rhea's waist from behind with both arms, screaming for help.
More footsteps. Voices. Chaos.
But Ling didn't hear any of it.
There was only the weight in her arms.
Only the thought slamming through her mind again and again—
If she falls, I fall with her.
"Pull," Ling barked when hands finally reached them.
Together, they hauled.
Rhea's body came back over the railing in a violent rush.
She collapsed forward—straight into Ling.
Ling staggered back with her, arms wrapping around Rhea automatically, crushing her to her chest as if gravity itself might change its mind.
Rhea clutched Ling's shirt, shaking, breath tearing out of her in broken sobs she couldn't stop.
Ling held her.
Hard.
Protective.
Unthinking.
Her own heart thundered wildly, rage and fear still burning white-hot under her skin.
Only when Rhea was fully on solid ground—alive, breathing, here—did Ling finally lift her head.
Her eyes scanned the terrace.
And found Mira, standing frozen a few steps away, face pale, eyes wide with horror at what she had almost caused.
Ling's grip tightened around Rhea instinctively.
Her voice, when it came, was low.
Deadly.
"Get away from her."
The crowd that had gathered fell silent.
Rhea's face was buried against Ling's shoulder, fingers still locked tight like she was afraid the ground would disappear again.
Ling didn't push her away.
Didn't loosen her hold.
For the first time, she didn't care who saw.
Because in that moment, one truth stood unarguable—
Ling Kwong had chosen.
And she had chosen Rhea Nior with her body before her mind ever caught up.
She didn't realize she was crying.
Not at first.
It was only when a tear dropped onto Rhea's hair—warm, undeniable—that something inside her finally broke open.
Her arms tightened around Rhea instinctively, pulling her closer, as if the air itself might betray them again. Rhea's shaking body was still pressed to her chest, fingers knotted into Ling's shirt like anchors.
Ling's breath hitched.
She had almost lost her.
The thought struck with delayed violence.
Almost.
The university terrace had gone deathly quiet.
Students stood frozen—whispering stopped mid-breath, phones forgotten in hands. No one had ever seen this. Not this Ling.
Her eyes were red now. Not soft. Not weak.
Burning.
A second tear slipped free, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
Ling slowly lifted her head.
Her gaze locked onto Mira.
And the temperature dropped.
Rage didn't explode out of Ling—it condensed. Her face went terrifyingly still, eyes blazing with a fury so pure it silenced the space around her.
Students instinctively stepped back.
Mira stood rooted to the spot, horror dawning fully now as she realized what she'd done—and who she had almost destroyed.
Ling didn't raise her voice.
That made it worse.
"You," Ling said quietly.
Rhea flinched at the sound of her voice—not from fear, but from how tightly it was held together.
Ling said, never releasing Rhea.
"If she had fallen," Ling continued, voice shaking just slightly at the edges, "there would be nothing in this world that could have stopped me."
Her tears kept falling.
Not many.
Just enough to prove the impossible.
The ruler had bled in public.
Students—watching history fracture in real time.
Zifa stared in stunned silence.
Rina, who had just reached the terrace, froze at the sight—heart sinking.
Mira's lips trembled. "Ling, I—I didn't mean—"
Ling's eyes sharpened.
"You touched her," Ling said. "You pushed her."
Her grip around Rhea tightened protectively, arm braced across Rhea's back like a shield.
"I warned you," Ling said softly. "I told you not to interfere. Not to follow me. Not to cross lines you don't belong to."
Mira shook her head, tears streaming now. "I was scared of losing you."
Ling laughed once.
It was hollow.
"You already did," she said.
The words echoed.
Rhea stirred then, lifting her face slightly from Ling's chest. Her eyes were red too—but not broken. Focused. Watching.
Ling felt it—the shift.
She looked down at Rhea, forehead pressing briefly to hers without thinking.
"You're safe," Ling whispered—not a confession, not a promise. A fact she needed to say out loud.
Rhea's breath finally slowed.
Behind them, the students stood in stunned silence.
They had seen Ling Kwong dominate courts, lecture halls, power structures.
But today—
They had seen her cry.
And they had seen exactly who could make her lose everything she had ever called control.
Ling didn't let go.
Not when faculty started shouting.
Not when students were pulled back.
Not when Rhea tried to straighten herself.
She bent, one arm sliding under Rhea's knees, the other locking around her back, and lifted her without asking.
"Ling—" Rhea protested, sharp, embarrassed.
"Quiet," Ling said.
Not angry.
Not gentle.
Absolute.
The word shut everything down.
Gasps followed them as Ling carried Rhea off the terrace, through corridors that emptied instinctively in her presence. No one dared stop her.