For a handful of seconds, the memory stopped being something Ding Jia watched and became something she was inside completely.
Water. Cold, dark, closing over her head from every direction at once.
Her lungs screamed before her mind caught up to what was happening. She thrashed, clawed toward a surface she couldn't find, every desperate kick costing her air she didn't have left to spend. It wasn't quiet. It wasn't peaceful. It was the worst kind of fight, one she was losing in real time, lungs burning past the point of pain into something closer to despair.
WOOF! WOOF!
DING DONG! DING DONG! DING DONG!
WOOF! WOOF!
"—Haah!"
Ding Jia surfaced, actually surfaced, gasping against her own hallway floor, one hand clutching her chest where the phantom ache of drowning still lingered.
What. What was that?
Her mind refused to fully process what she'd just lived through. A nightmare, maybe. An illusion. She wasn't sure "dream" was the right word for something that had hurt that much.
The doorbell rang again, more urgently this time, accompanied by a frantic knock she only now registered had been going on for a while.
"Ms. Ding Jia? Are you in there?" Luo Yang's voice, unmistakably worried beneath its usual flatness.
She scrambled upright, smoothing her clothes and her expression in the same breath, years of camera training snapping into place exactly when she needed it most.
"Should I call building security?" he was saying as she reached the door.
She pulled it open before he finished the sentence.
His raised fist froze mid-knock. Arthur, less concerned with decorum, immediately lunged forward and nearly knocked her flat with affectionate enthusiasm, only Luo Yang's quick grip on the collar saving her from the floor entirely.
"Are you alright? I heard you scream and got worried." His face stayed as composed as ever, but the small furrow between his brows gave away more than his tone did.
"I just tripped over my own feet," she said smoothly, rubbing the back of her neck for effect. "Sorry for the noise, I didn't mean to disturb you."
He studied her for a beat too long before apparently deciding to believe her. His shoulders eased slightly. "Did you hurt yourself?"
"No, I'm fine. Sorry again."
"It's fine. We're neighbors." He glanced down at his visibly disappointed dog, ignored him completely, and stepped back. "Have a good night, Ms. Ding Jia."
"You too."
She closed the door the moment his own clicked shut and immediately sank to her knees, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding the entire conversation. Her back was damp with cold sweat despite the room having long since returned to a normal temperature.
After several minutes spent gathering herself, she finally looked properly around her apartment.
Spotless. Untouched. No blood. No woman.
And, a few feet from where she'd been kneeling, no flower.
She exhaled, relief flooding through her chest. It hadn't been real. None of it had been real.
She tried very hard to believe that for the rest of the night, even as fragments of what she'd witnessed kept resurfacing uninvited. She considered calling the hospital to ask about possible medication side effects, then immediately abandoned the idea, picturing the headlines that would generate by morning.
That night, sleep came without dreams. But in her quiet, untouched study, a single white lily lay at the center of her desk, appearing from nowhere, filling the room with a faint, sweet scent before its petals slowly browned, dissolved into glittering dust, and disappeared just as silently as it had arrived.