Rhea consumed it.
The effect wasn't immediate just a sharp throb behind her eyes, like pressure building too fast. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingers to her temples.
The room tilted.
The laughter around her stretched, warped, like sound underwater. Faces lost definition. Colors smeared. Her heartbeat felt too loud, too fast, then suddenly… distant.
Her vision blurred completely now, the edges darkening.
"Hey— you okay?" someone asked, the voice sounding far away.
Rhea tried to answer.
Nothing came out.
Her head lolled slightly as nausea surged, her body suddenly heavy, uncooperative. The couch beneath her felt too soft, like it might swallow her whole.
She swallowed hard, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes without permission.
Ling…
The thought surfaced weakly, instinctive, even now.
Her head throbbed again harder this time and the room slipped further out of focus as her breathing turned shallow.
She felt like she was disappearing.
Downstairs, neon lights kept flashing. Music kept playing. People kept dancing.
And Ling was still searching the wrong places while Rhea sat upstairs, fading quietly in a room where forgetting didn't mean healing.
It meant losing control.
Zifa pushed through the upstairs corridor, irritation slowly turning into unease.
"Rhea?" she called again, louder this time. "This isn't funny anymore."
She had checked the dance floor twice. The bar. Outside.
Nothing.
Her gut twisted.
The door to the last room was half-open. Smoke leaked out, heavy and sweet in a way that made Zifa wrinkle her nose.
She stepped in and froze.
Rhea was slumped on a couch, head tilted unnaturally to the side, lashes wet, lips slightly parted. Her dress was rumpled, one heel missing. Her hands trembled weakly against her lap like they didn't know what to do.
"Rhea—?" Zifa rushed forward instantly, dropping to her knees.
She cupped Rhea's face gently. "Hey. Look at me. Baby, look at me."
Rhea's eyes fluttered open unfocused, glassy. She tried to smile.
"Zifa…" she whispered, the name slurring, like it was too heavy for her tongue. "Everything's… spinning."
Zifa's heart slammed painfully.
"What the hell did you drink?" she demanded, scanning the table, the floor, the people around them. Empty glasses. Smoke. Careless faces.
Rhea didn't answer.
Her head lolled forward instead, breath shallow, uneven.
"Shit. Shit—" Zifa muttered, panic rising fast. She slid an arm behind Rhea's back, trying to lift her. "Okay, okay, we're going to the car. Come on."
She pulled.
Rhea barely moved.
Her body was dead weight.
Zifa tried again, harder this time, bracing her legs, grunting with effort. Rhea slipped against her shoulder, a soft whimper leaving her throat like she was in pain even without being touched.
"Rhea, help me a little," Zifa pleaded, voice breaking. "Please."
Nothing.
Rhea's eyes rolled slightly, her head pressing weakly into Zifa's neck like a child too exhausted to stand.
Zifa's hands started shaking.
This wasn't just alcohol.
She didn't know that not yet but instinct screamed something was wrong.
"Hey!" Zifa snapped at the room, glaring at the people nearby. "What did she take? What did you idiots give her?"
Shrugs. Blank looks. Someone laughed nervously.
"We were just chilling," a guy said casually. "She said she wanted to forget."
Zifa's blood ran cold.
Forget what?
She adjusted her grip, trying again to lift Rhea, but her arms burned, her balance slipping. Rhea sagged completely now, breathing shallow against her shoulder.
"I can't do this alone," Zifa whispered, terrified now, pressing her forehead briefly against Rhea's hair. "Why didn't you just tell me you were hurting this bad?"
Rhea murmured something incoherent Ling's name tangled with a sob then went quiet again.
Zifa swallowed hard, blinking fast.
"Okay," she said shakily, forcing herself to think. "Okay. Stay with me. I'm here."
She reached for her phone with one hand, still holding Rhea upright with the other, heart racing as she realized the truth she didn't yet understand:
She had found Rhea.
But she might already be running out of time.
Ling was already moving back toward the stairs when she saw them.
Zifa half-dragging someone.
Brown dress. Bare feet. Head lolling.
Ling broke into a run.
"Rhea."
The name tore out of her throat raw.
She reached them in seconds, dropping to her knees in front of Rhea, hands immediately framing her face. One look the pupils too wide, the unfocused stare, the way her body refused to respond and Ling knew.
Her stomach dropped.
Not guessing.
Not assuming.
Knowing.
Because once, long ago, she had stood exactly where Rhea was now.
"She took something," Ling said sharply, already checking Rhea's pulse, her breathing. Her voice was steady but her hands were not. "Not just alcohol."
Zifa looked up, panicked. "What? No— I didn't see— she was just drunk—"
Ling's jaw clenched. "This isn't drunk."
Rhea whimpered softly when Ling's thumb brushed her cheek.
"Hey," Ling murmured, voice dropping instantly, gentler, familiar. "Stay with me. Don't go."
Rhea didn't answer. Her lashes fluttered uselessly.
Ling looked up, eyes cutting through the room. "You," she snapped at the nearest staff. "Bring me cold water. Now."
The man hesitated. Ling's stare turned lethal.
"Now."
He ran.
Zifa swallowed hard. "Ling… what do we do?"
Ling exhaled slowly, grounding herself. "We slow it. We don't let her lie down. We keep her awake. We keep her breathing steady."
She took Rhea's face again, pressing her forehead lightly to Rhea's.
"You promised you'd ruin yourself once," Ling whispered hoarsely. "Not disappear."
The water arrived.
Ling held the glass to Rhea's lips carefully. "Small sips," she coaxed. "Just taste it. That's good. Focus on that."
Rhea grimaced weakly, a faint sound escaping her throat as the sharpness hit her tongue.
"There," Ling said softly. "Good. That's good."
Zifa watched, stunned. "How do you know all this?"
Ling didn't look up.
"Because I've been here," she said quietly. "And because I promised myself I'd never let anyone I love be alone in this room."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Rhea's fingers twitched, barely, curling weakly into Ling's sleeve like instinct recognized safety even when consciousness couldn't.
Ling's chest tightened painfully.
"Don't you dare," she whispered, close to Rhea's ear now. "You don't get to leave me after surviving me."
She looked up at Zifa, eyes sharp again. "We're taking her out of here. Fresh air. Then doctor. No arguments."
Zifa nodded immediately, tears brimming. "Okay. Okay."
Ling shifted, lifting Rhea carefully into her arms effortless despite the fear shaking through her.
Rhea sagged against her, breathing shallow but present.
Ling held her tighter.
The La Rose Noire Droptail waited with its two seats only, low, predatory, intimate by design. A car not meant for crowds. A car meant for possession.
Ling opened the passenger side, slid in first, then pulled Rhea toward her without ceremony.
Rhea ended up half on Ling's lap, half against her chest, legs tangled, head falling into the hollow of Ling's neck. The leather was cold; Ling's body was not.
She slammed the door shut herself.
The world cut off.
No driver's voice.
No witnesses.
No Mira.
No Zifa.
Just them.
Ling adjusted Rhea immediately one arm locked around her ribs, the other cupping her jaw, thumb pressing lightly under her chin to keep her airway open.
Her pulse raced under Ling's fingers.
Fast. Too fast.
Ling's jaw clenched.
"Stupid," she muttered not to Rhea, not to herself to the night, to fate, to every version of loss she had survived before. "So fucking stupid."
Rhea stirred faintly, brow knitting, a soft, broken sound leaving her throat.
Ling lowered her forehead to Rhea's hair.
"You don't get to scare me like this," she said quietly. No shouting. No drama. Just truth, sharpened. "You don't get to collapse when I'm not done keeping you alive."
She pulled a silver flask from the hidden compartment water.
Ling tipped a few drops onto Rhea's lips, careful, controlled.
"Swallow," she murmured. "That's it. Slow."
Rhea gagged weakly, then swallowed.
Ling exhaled for the first time in minutes.
Her phone was already in her hand.
One call. No dialing.
"Yes," came the calm voice immediately.
"Home," Ling said. "Prep the west wing. Toxicology-ready. IV, oxygen, cardiac monitor. I want Dr. Han and Dr. Verma. No residents. No delays."
A pause — professional, alert. "Understood. ETA?"
"Seven minutes."
She ended the call.
No hospital.
No questions.
No records.
Only Kwong ground, where no one touched what was hers without permission.
Ling shifted slightly, angling Rhea's body better against her, fingers spreading over Rhea's bare sternum, feeling the rise and fall of her breath. The navel piercing glinted faintly a cruel reminder of how exposed she was.
Ling's thumb brushed over it once. Not erotic. Protective. Anchoring.
"Stay," Ling whispered, thumb brushing Rhea's jaw again. "I've got you."
Rhea made a faint sound not a word, just pain and confusion tangled together, Ling went out.
Behind her, Mira stopped short.
"Ling," Mira said, breathless, stunned. "What about me? How will I go?"
Ling straightened slowly.
The air around her shifted.
She looked at Mira once not cruelly, not kindly just finished.
"Zifa will drop you," Ling said flatly.
Mira stared. "Ling—"
Ling cut her off with a single raised hand. "Not tonight."
There was no anger in her voice. That was worse.
Zifa hovered nearby, shaken, clutching her phone. Ling turned to her next, eyes sharp, commanding.
"Take her home," Ling said. "Safely. No detours."
Zifa nodded immediately. "Yes. I will."
Mira took a step closer, desperation slipping through her controlled expression. "Ling, this isn't healthy. You said it was over. You said—"
Ling leaned down, one hand braced on the car door, the other still inside, fingers resting firmly on Rhea's waist claiming even in unconsciousness.
She didn't look at Mira when she spoke.
"I didn't say I'd let her die."
Silence slammed down.
Mira swallowed hard.
Ling finally turned her head slightly, just enough for Mira to see her profile rigid, jaw locked, eyes dark with something feral and ancient.
"You don't get to compete with someone who can't even stand," Ling continued quietly. "And you don't get to question me when she's like this."
Mira's hands curled into fists.
"But—"
Ling's gaze snapped to her fully now.
"One more word," Ling said, voice low and lethal, "and you will never be welcome near me again."
That did it.
Mira froze.
Zifa gently but firmly touched Mira's arm. "Come. I'll take you."
Mira looked once more at Rhea sprawled helplessly in Ling's car, Ling's hand still anchored to her body like a vow.
Something bitter crossed Mira's face.
She turned away.
The door closed.
The night went quiet.
Ling slid into the driver seat immediately, pulling Rhea closer, cradling her against her chest this time. She grabbed water again, lifting it carefully.
"Hey," she murmured, pressing her lips briefly to Rhea's temple grounding. "Open your mouth. Just a little."
Rhea's lips parted weakly.
Ling tipped the glass, slow, controlled, watching every swallow like it mattered more than oxygen.
Her thumb stroked small, steady circles on Rhea's waist, over the curve of skin and the cold metal of the navel piercing.
"You wanted one night," Ling whispered, voice breaking despite herself. "You didn't get to choose the price."
She leaned her forehead against Rhea's hair, eyes closing for half a second just long enough for fear to leak through.
Then she opened them again.
Cold. Focused. Ruthless.
The car moved.
Ling didn't let go.
Not once.
Not even when Rhea stirred weakly and whispered something broken, unintelligible, soaked in tears.