Ling let out a sound that wasn't human—half scream, half sob—curling over Rhea's body like she could shield her from death itself.
"I followed you," Ling cried, voice cracking completely. "I came back. I chose you. Isn't that enough? Isn't that what you wanted?"
Her tears fell uncontrollably now, soaking Rhea's hair, her face, her collar. Ling couldn't stop shaking—couldn't stop screaming.
"Breathe!" she yelled, pounding weakly on Rhea's chest. "Breathe, damn you!"
Shyra grabbed Ling's wrist gently but firmly. "Ling—listen to me," she said urgently, fighting her own panic. "She's hypothermic. Don't shake her like that."
Ling jerked her arm back violently. "Don't touch me."
Her voice broke again as she looked down at Rhea's unmoving face. "She was talking. She was mocking me. She was here."
Rina twisted fully around from the passenger seat now, face tight, controlled but alarmed. "Ling. Wrap her tighter. Full body contact. We're almost there."
Ling nodded blindly, obeying without thinking. She curled around Rhea completely, dragging her closer, pulling her legs up, pressing her own body heat into her with brutal force.
"I'm here," Ling sobbed into Rhea's hair. "I'm right here. You don't get to leave me like this."
Her voice rose again, hysterical, raw. "You don't get to win the argument by dying!"
She kissed Rhea desperately—forehead, lips, cheeks—over and over, like a prayer she never believed in until now.
"Same idiot," Ling whispered brokenly. "You said it yourself. I think kisses fix everything. So stay. Stay and prove me wrong tomorrow."
The car sped dangerously fast now, siren screaming through traffic.
Rhea didn't move.
Ling screamed again, fists clenching in Rhea's coat, nails digging into her own palms until they bled. "No—no—no—no—"
She bent over Rhea, shaking, crying, barely holding herself together.
"I hate you," Ling sobbed. "I hate you for doing this. I hate you for making me beg."
Her forehead rested against Rhea's, breath ragged, tears falling freely. "Please," she whispered, voice barely there anymore. "I can't do this without you."
Shyra wiped her own eyes roughly, keeping her hands steady on Rhea's feet, rubbing warmth into them desperately. "Come on, Rhea," she murmured. "Stay. Don't you dare leave us."
The first drop hit Ling's wrist.
Warm.
Ling didn't understand it at first. Her brain was too loud, too fractured, screaming Rhea's name over and over like a broken alarm. Then another drop followed. And another.
Red.
Ling's eyes snapped down.
"No," she whispered.
Blood was trickling from Rhea's nose, thin and slow, cutting a cruel line over her pale skin. Her lips were parted slightly now, breath so shallow it barely disturbed the air.
Something inside Ling tore loose.
"No—no—no—no—" she choked, her hands flying everywhere at once, helpless, useless. She wiped at the blood with her sleeve, then her bare hand, smearing it instead. "This isn't happening. This isn't happening."
Her chest seized so hard she couldn't breathe.
The world tilted.
Sound dulled.
For a terrifying second, Ling felt it—like she was floating just behind herself, watching from somewhere far away. Like her body was still in the car, still holding Rhea, but she was already gone.
Her soul slipped.
Shyra saw it instantly.
"Ling!" she shouted, grabbing Ling's shoulders hard, shaking her. "Ling—get a grip! Look at me!"
Ling didn't respond. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, staring at nothing.
"Ling!" Shyra yelled again, louder now, panic threading through her voice. "She's still breathing! You hear me? She's breathing!"
That snapped something.
Ling sucked in a violent, broken breath, like she'd been dragged back into her body against her will. Her eyes refocused shakily—on Rhea's face, on the faint rise of her chest.
Breathing.
Barely—but there.
Ling collapsed forward with a sob that ripped out of her chest.
"Oh god—oh god," she cried, pulling Rhea closer, pressing her forehead into Rhea's hair like she was afraid she'd vanish if she looked away. "I thought—I thought she was gone."
Shyra's voice shook but stayed firm. "She's not. Stay with her. She needs you here."
Ling nodded frantically, tears streaming uncontrollably now. She cupped Rhea's face again, trembling so hard she could barely keep her hands steady.
"Rhea," Ling begged openly, all pride obliterated. "Please. Please don't do this. I can't—"
Her voice broke completely.
"I'll die without you," she sobbed, the words spilling out raw and unfiltered. "I swear I will. I don't know how to exist if you're not here. Please—don't leave me like this."
She kissed Rhea's forehead, her nose, her lips—over and over—each kiss desperate, uneven, soaked in tears. "I'll change," Ling cried. "I'll stop running. I'll stop controlling. I'll stop pretending I don't need you."
Her hands slid down Rhea's back, pulling her impossibly closer. "Just breathe. That's all I'm asking. Just breathe and I'll do the rest. I'll carry everything else."
Rhea didn't respond.
But she breathed.
Ling pressed her ear to Rhea's chest, listening like it was the only sound tethering her to reality. Thump. Slow. Weak—but there.
"There you are," Ling whispered brokenly. "I hear you. Don't you stop."
Shyra wiped at her eyes roughly, then focused again, rubbing Rhea's feet hard, forcing warmth back into them. "Hospital's right there," she said urgently. "We're almost there."
The car screeched as it turned sharply, tires screaming in protest.
Ling didn't look up. She couldn't.
She rocked Rhea gently now, whispering nonstop like a prayer she never learned properly. "Stay with me. Stay angry. Stay stubborn. You always outlast me—do it again."
Her tears dripped onto Rhea's cheeks, mingling with the blood she kept wiping away with shaking hands.
"I followed you," Ling whispered again, voice wrecked. "I chose you. I'm choosing you right now. Please don't make it meaningless."
Rhea's chest rose again.
Ling felt it.
A sob of relief tore out of her.
"Yes—yes—good," she breathed. "That's it. Do that. Just keep doing that."
The car slammed to a stop.
Voices shouted. Doors opened. Cold air rushed in, then bright white light.
Hands reached for Rhea.
Ling snarled instinctively, tightening her hold. "Careful," she snapped through tears. "She's cold. She's hypothermic. Don't drop her."
A paramedic met her eyes, steady, calm. "We've got her. You did good. Let us take over."
Ling hesitated—then slowly, painfully, loosened her grip just enough to let them lift Rhea from her arms.
The moment Rhea left her chest, Ling felt hollow. Empty. Like something vital had been ripped out.
She stumbled forward, hands still reaching. "I'm here," she kept saying desperately. "I'm here. Don't let her be alone."
Shyra caught Ling before her knees gave out, holding her upright as they rushed Rhea inside.
Ling watched them go, shaking, sobbing, her heart still pounding in her ears.
She pressed her bloody hands to her face and whispered one last, broken plea into the air—
"Please… don't take her from me."
Because hate had never scared her.
Power had never scared her.
Loss?
Loss had just taught Ling Kwong what terror really was.