For thirty days, Joie lived as a ghost haunting two different houses.
The routine was her only anchor. Every evening, no matter how much blood was on the floor or how many pages of medical diagrams she had to memorize, she made sure she was on the 9:15 PM PNR train. They saw each other every day. It became a silent, sacred ritual. Alliana would be there, saving a seat in the corner where the air conditioning actually worked. The train became a sanctuary—a twenty-minute suspension of reality where the "Main Work" couldn't reach them.
One Tuesday, the rain was particularly heavy, hammering against the metal roof of the train like a barrage of small stones. They were tucked into their usual corner, the carriage half-empty. Alliana was scrolling through a digital marketing report, but her eyes kept drifting to Joie, who was staring blankly at a diagram of the brain's blood vessels.
"You're a thousand miles away," Alliana said softly, closing her laptop. "And you look like you're about to bite someone's head off."
Joie didn't look up from her book. "Just a long day, Alli. Med school doesn't exactly leave room for a sunny disposition."
"It's more than that," Alliana pushed, her voice gentle but persistent. "Whenever the train passes the turn-off for the richer districts, you get... stiff. And you never talk about home, Joie. I've told you about my parents' farm in Batangas, about my brother's annoying habit of borrowing money... but I don't even know if you have a dog."
Joie's jaw tightened. The mention of "home" was like a physical blow. "I don't have a dog. I have a room. That's all you need to know."
Alliana winced at the sharpness in Joie's tone. "I'm not trying to pry. I just think it's weird that after a month, your family is a 'No Fly Zone.' Are they strict? Are they the reason you're always so stressed?"
Joie finally looked at her, and for a second, the "Cold Prodigy" was fully present in her eyes. "My family provides for me, Alliana. They pay for my tuition, my books, and the clothes on my back. That's the end of the story. I don't ask about your marketing clients' personal lives, do I?"
"That's different and you know it," Alliana countered, her hurt turning into a spark of frustration. "We aren't business partners, Joie. I care about you. If they're the reason you come onto this train looking like you've seen a ghost, I want to help."
"You can't help!" Joie's voice rose, causing a few commuters to glance their way. She leaned in closer, her voice a dangerous, trembling whisper. "You think every problem has a 'marketing solution'? Some families aren't meant to be talked about over coffee. Some things are just... obligations. If you want a girl with a white picket fence and a family dinner every Sunday, you're looking at the wrong person."
Alliana didn't flinch. She leaned in too, her nose inches from Joie's. "I don't want a white picket fence. I want the girl who caught my bag. Why are you so hostile the second I mention the people who raised you?"
"Because they own me!" Joie hissed, the truth slipping out in a jagged fragment. She immediately pulled back, her face pale. "They... they expect a lot from me. The pressure is just... it's not something you'd understand."
Alliana watched her for a long time. Finally, she reached out and took Joie's hand.
"I don't need to understand the pressure," Alliana whispered. "I just need to know you're in there. Don't let them turn you into a statue, Joie."
But as the sun rose, the "Shadow" returned. In the windowless basements, Joie was forced to use her medical knowledge to "interrogate" a rival. She knew exactly how to cause pain without leaving a permanent mark. Her hands were terrifyingly steady. Every time she felt a pang of guilt, she buried it under the weight of her tuition.
The duality was tearing her apart. The daily train rides were making her "soft." She started to hesitate in the basement. She realized that the more she loved Alliana, the more of a liability she became to the Tenorios.
One night, while Alliana was asleep against her shoulder on the train, Joie looked at their reflection. She saw the killer and the student staring back at her. She realized then that Stephen was right: in her world, love wasn't a sanctuary. It was a weakness.