Rhea glanced down at Ling's feet and sucked in a sharp breath. Without thinking, she pushed herself closer and pulled Ling's legs out of the water, wrapping her arms around them, trying to warm them with her own body.
"Why didn't you stop?" Rhea whispered through sobs. "Why didn't you let me explain?"
Ling's lips trembled faintly—but no sound came out.
It terrified Rhea more than shouting ever could have.
She pressed her face into Ling's shoulder, holding her tightly now, not caring who was watching, not caring about pride or control or anything else.
"I didn't choose him," Rhea said brokenly. "I never did. I was angry. I was stupid. I was—"
Her voice failed.
"I was waiting for you," she whispered. "I always wait for you."
That did something.
Ling's hand twitched weakly against the sand.
Barely noticeable—but Rhea felt it.
She pulled back just enough to look at her face again. "Ling?"
Ling's jaw clenched slightly. Her throat worked like she was swallowing something sharp.
"I lost you," Ling whispered finally.
The words were flat. Empty. Not accusatory.
Just a statement she had already accepted.
Rhea shook her head violently. "No. You didn't. I'm here."
Ling let out a small, broken laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "You just… got here late."
Rhea grabbed her face again, forcing her to look at her. "Then I'll stay. As long as it takes. I'm not leaving."
The waves crashed louder, wind whipping around them, but Rhea didn't let go. She wrapped herself around Ling fully now, shielding her from the cold, from the night, from the silence that had almost swallowed her whole.
Behind them, the squad stood frozen—watching the woman they feared and followed sit shattered in the sand, and the only person who could reach her holding on like she was afraid Ling might dissolve into the sea if she loosened her grip.
Rhea tightened her arms around Ling instinctively, holding her like she might disappear again if loosened even for a second.
"It's okay," Rhea whispered desperately. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."
Ling's lips curved slowly—not into warmth, not into relief—
But into a sad, hollow smile.
She looked at Rhea for a long moment, eyes red, unfocused, tired in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
"Empathy," Ling said quietly, almost thoughtfully. "That's bad."
Rhea frowned, pulling back just enough to look at her face. "What?"
Ling let out a soft, humorless breath. "I don't want empathy."
Her voice wasn't sharp. That was worse.
"I don't want you to look at me like I'm something broken you need to fix," Ling continued, eyes dropping briefly before lifting again. "I want you to choose me. Not… pity me."
Rhea's chest clenched painfully. "This isn't pity."
Ling shook her head slowly. "It feels like it."
Before Rhea could respond, Ling placed her hands on the sand and pushed herself up abruptly, determination cutting through exhaustion.
Her legs betrayed her immediately.
She swayed, jaw tightening as pain shot through her feet—numb, stiff, barely responding. Still, she straightened her spine, refusing help, refusing weakness.
"I'm fine," Ling muttered.
Rhea stood too, panicking now, reaching out. "Ling, don't—your feet—"
She tried to steady her, fingers brushing Ling's arm.
Ling reacted instantly.
She pushed Rhea's hands away—not hard, but firm. Final.
"Don't," she said.
The word landed heavier than a shout.
Ling took a step forward anyway, stubborn, unbalanced, pride forcing motion where her body couldn't follow.
Her ankle gave.
She stumbled.
Then fell—hard—back into the sand.
For half a second, everything froze.
Then Ling laughed.
It burst out of her chest suddenly, sharp and breathless, almost hysterical. She lay there on her back, staring up at the night sky, hair spread across the sand, tears still slipping sideways into her temples.
"Look at that," she laughed, shaking her head. "Even gravity's done with me."
Rhea dropped to her knees instantly. "Ling—please—"
Ling waved a hand weakly, still laughing at herself, voice cracking mid-sound. "Trillionaire heiress," she mocked softly. "Can't even walk away with dignity."
The laugh dissolved into something quieter, sadder.
She turned her head slightly, eyes meeting Rhea's again. "See?" she said. "This is why I don't want empathy."
Rhea's tears fell freely now.
Ling stared at her for a long moment.
The wind howled around them, waves crashing rhythmically, uncaring witnesses to everything unraveling.
Rhea swallowed hard, hands clenched in the sand beside Ling's shoulders.
Rhea whispered. "Don't push me away because you're scared I'll stay for the wrong reasons."
Ling closed her eyes briefly, laughter gone now, replaced by exhaustion so deep it hurt.
"I don't know how to stand," she admitted quietly. "Not without control. Not without armor."
Rhea leaned down carefully, resting her forehead against Ling's again—not holding her down, not pulling her up. Just staying.
"Then don't stand," Rhea said softly. "Just… don't walk away either."
Ling didn't answer.
But she didn't push her away again.
She lay there in the sand, breathing unevenly, pride bruised, feet numb, heart exposed—no longer laughing, no longer fighting gravity.
And for the first time that night, she allowed herself to stay fallen—
With Rhea still beside her.