Jian cleared his throat. "Not necessarily."
Ling looked at him then—really looked.
"Where is she?" Ling asked again.
Silence.
Zifa stepped forward slightly, careful. "Ling… give it a minute. She's upset."
Ling's eyes flicked to Zifa. "About what?"
Zifa didn't answer.
Rina forced a laugh. "You scared her when you threw the notebook."
Ling didn't deny it. "That wasn't for her."
"That doesn't matter," Rina said quietly. "It still hit."
Ling exhaled once through her nose.
"Call her," Ling said.
Zifa hesitated just long enough to be noticed.
Ling's gaze snapped back to her.
"You already know where she is," Ling said.
Zifa met her eyes, calm but firm. "Yes."
Ling went still.
"And you're not telling me."
Zifa nodded. "Because if you know, you'll go there angry."
Ling's voice dropped. "I'm already angry."
Rina stepped in fast. "Not like that."
Ling looked between them.
Realization settled in—slow, heavy.
"With him," Ling said.
No one corrected her.
The silence confirmed it.
Ling's face didn't change.
That was worse.
"Which café?" she asked.
Jian shook his head. "We're not saying."
Ling's lips pressed into a thin line.
"You're protecting her," Ling said. Not a question.
Rina nodded. "From you. Right now."
Ling turned away without another word.
She walked three steps—then stopped.
"She chose that," Ling said quietly, back still to them.
Zifa answered just as softly. "She chose space. Not replacement."
Ling didn't respond.
She walked off, expression sealed tight, anger folded so deep it looked like control.
Behind her, Rina released a breath. "She's going to lose it."
And that was far more dangerous.
The coffee had gone bitter.
Rhea sat rigid in her chair, fingers tight around the cup, jaw clenched so hard it ached. She wasn't really drinking anymore—just lifting it, lowering it, letting the heat sting her palm like punishment.
Roin watched her carefully.
"You're going to burn yourself," he said.
"Good," Rhea muttered. "Maybe it'll distract me."
He hesitated, then reached across the table—slow, deliberate—and placed his hand over hers.
It happened in the smallest window of time.
Before Rhea could react.
Before she could pull away.
Before she could say anything at all—
The café door opened.
Ling walked in.
Her eyes found Rhea instantly.
And then—
They dropped to the table.
To Roin's hand.
Covering Rhea's.
Ling stopped walking.
For half a second, her mind filled in the gap ruthlessly:
Rhea hadn't pulled away.
Rhea was letting it happen.
Something inside Ling snapped—not loudly, not explosively.
Cold. Clean. Surgical.
She crossed the café in long, controlled strides.
Rhea felt it before she saw it.
The air shifted.
She looked up.
And froze.
"Ling—" she started.
Too late.
Ling reached the table and slammed her palm down between them.
The cups rattled.
"Move," Ling said flatly.
Roin stiffened. "Ling, this isn't—"
Ling's eyes cut to him.
"I wasn't talking to you."
Roin's hand finally lifted.
Rhea yanked her own hand back instantly, standing up so fast her chair scraped loudly.
"That's not what it looked like," Rhea snapped.
Ling laughed once.
Short. Empty.
"Then explain," Ling said. "Because it looked exactly like you choosing him."
Rhea's chest heaved. "I didn't choose anyone. He touched me without asking."
Ling's gaze flicked back to Roin.
Danger sharpened.
"You touched her," Ling said quietly.
Roin lifted his hands. "She didn't say no."
That was the wrong answer.
Ling stepped forward.
Rhea moved instantly—planting herself between them, hands flat on Ling's chest.
"Don't," Rhea said sharply. "Not here. Not now."
Ling looked down at her hands.
Then at her face.
"You stopped me," Ling said. "Not him."
Rhea's eyes burned. "Because you were about to do something stupid."
Roin tried to step in again. "Rhea, calm down—"
Ling turned on him fully now.
"You don't get to say her name," Ling said. "Ever."
Rhea spun. "Stop it! Both of you!"
The café had gone silent.
All eyes on them.
Rhea's voice shook with fury and humiliation. "You walked away from me. You ignored me. You threw your notebook and left like I didn't matter. And now you're here acting like you own me?"
Ling's jaw clenched. "I walked away because you threatened me with him."
"I was angry!" Rhea shot back. "I wanted you to react. I didn't expect you to disappear."
Ling's eyes darkened. "I don't compete."
Rhea laughed bitterly. "Then stop acting like you're losing."
Silence stretched—raw and exposed.
Roin shifted awkwardly. "Maybe I should—"
Ling pointed at the door without looking at him. "Leave."
Rhea turned on Ling instantly. "You don't get to order him."
Ling met her gaze. "And you don't get to pretend this didn't hurt."
Rhea's throat tightened. "You hurt me first."
Ling said nothing.
That was worse.
Rhea grabbed her bag. "I'm done with this. Both of you."
She walked past Ling—shoulder brushing hers, intentional, defiant.
Ling didn't stop her.
Didn't grab her.
Didn't follow.
Roin hesitated, then went after Rhea.
Ling remained standing in the middle of the café, surrounded by whispers and stares, staring at the empty space where Rhea had been.
The image stayed burned into her mind—
Rhea's hand under someone else's.
And the unbearable truth that hesitation had cost them both more than words ever could.
For three seconds after Rhea walked out, Ling didn't move.
The café breathed again—whispers rising, chairs shifting, people pretending not to stare while staring anyway.
Ling stood there, still as carved stone.
Then something in her finally broke.
Her hand reached out calmly and swept across the table.
Cups flew.
Coffee arced through the air, splattering across the floor, the wall, the glass. Ceramic shattered on impact, sharp and final. Someone yelped. A chair screeched backward.
Ling grabbed the next table.
And threw.
Another crash. Another spill. Another sharp inhale from the room.
"Get out," Ling said.
Her voice wasn't raised.
That was what terrified them.
Roin froze mid-step, turning back just as Ling advanced.
She grabbed the table in front of him and flipped it violently to the side. Cups smashed at his feet. Hot coffee splashed close enough that he stumbled back.
"Didn't I tell you," Ling said, eyes black, jaw locked, "to leave."
Roin lifted his hands. "Ling, you're overreacting—"
Ling slammed her palm into the counter.
The entire café flinched.
"Do not," she said slowly, each word precise, "touch what is mine."