Ling didn't sit. She didn't lean.
Her knees hit the hospital floor hard, the sound swallowed by chaos—stretchers, orders, rushing feet. Her back slid down the cold wall as if gravity finally remembered her. Her chest heaved, breaths coming sharp and uneven, like her lungs had forgotten rhythm.
Her hands were still shaking.
Blood—Rhea's blood—had dried in streaks along her fingers.
Ling pressed her forehead to her knees, shoulders collapsing inward for the first time in her life. No audience. No control. Just exhaustion so deep it hollowed her out.
She cried silently at first.
Then it broke.
A raw, animal sound tore out of her chest, ugly and uncontrolled. She dragged her hands through her hair, nails scraping scalp, like pain was the only thing anchoring her.
"Please," she whispered hoarsely to no one. "Please."
Behind the glass, she could see them working on Rhea.
Blankets stripped. Warmers placed. IV lines rushed in. Oxygen mask secured. A nurse rubbed Rhea's arms aggressively to force circulation back. Another shouted numbers.
Too cold. Too pale. Too still.
Ling pushed herself up unsteadily and staggered closer to the glass, palms slamming against it.
"Stay with her," she said aloud, voice trembling. "She hates being alone. Don't leave her alone."
A doctor stepped out a moment later—a middle-aged man, calm face, careful eyes.
Ling's head snapped up instantly.
"Well?" she demanded, already on her feet, body coiled tight with terror. "Say it."
The doctor hesitated for half a second too long.
"We're doing everything we can," he said carefully. "She's severely hypothermic. Her core temperature is dangerously low. The next hour is critical."
Something in Ling snapped clean through.
She surged forward and grabbed him by the collar, slamming him back against the wall with enough force to make nearby nurses gasp.
"If something happens to her," Ling hissed, eyes blazing red with tears and fury, "I will kill you."
The doctor stiffened but didn't fight her. "Miss—"
"I'll kill all of you," Ling continued, shaking him once, violently. "Every single person who touched her and let her get like this. Remember my face. Remember my name."
Security started forward.
Shyra shouted, "Ling—stop!"
Ling's grip tightened instead.
"You think this is a threat?" Ling whispered, shaking with rage. "This is a promise."
The doctor swallowed. "Let go," he said firmly. "You're not helping her like this."
For a split second, Ling looked like she might actually tear him apart.
Then—her strength vanished.
Her hands loosened on their own.
She staggered back a step, chest hitching, eyes blurring again as the weight of his words hit her.
Not helping.
She laughed once—broken, disbelieving.
Her legs gave out again. Shyra caught her this time, wrapping arms around her shoulders, forcing her to stay upright.
"Ling," Shyra said urgently, voice shaking but steady. "You need to breathe. She needs you conscious."
Ling dragged in air like it burned.
"I told her," Ling sobbed suddenly, gripping Shyra's sleeve like a lifeline. "I told her I'd die without her. And now—now she's—"
Her voice broke completely.
"She's not dead," Shyra said sharply, forcing Ling to look at her. "Do not say that. She's alive. She's fighting."
Ling shook her head helplessly. "She shouldn't have to," she cried. "I should've found her sooner. I should've—"
She slid down again, back against the wall, hands over her face. "I left her," she whispered. "I flew away. I let her think she didn't matter."
Minutes stretched like hours.
Doctors rushed in and out. Machines beeped relentlessly behind the glass. Ling didn't move. She didn't blink. She stared at Rhea like if she looked away even once, she'd lose her.
When another nurse passed too close, Ling grabbed her wrist instinctively.
"Is she breathing?" Ling demanded.
"Yes," the nurse said quickly. "Weak, but yes."
Ling closed her eyes briefly, a sob escaping her lips. "Okay," she whispered. "That's enough. That's all I need."
She leaned her forehead back against the wall, eyes burning, voice hoarse.
"Don't you dare leave me," Ling murmured toward the room. "You don't get to make me survive this alone."
Her jaw tightened, resolve bleeding through the devastation.
And for the first time in her life, Ling Kwong waited—
Powerless.
Terrified.
Praying to a god she never believed in.
The doctor came out quietly this time.
No rush. No panic. Just tired eyes and a loosened jaw.
Ling stood up so fast the chair screeched backward.
"She's out of danger," the doctor said. "Severe hypothermia, but we stabilized her core temperature. She's unconscious—her body will force sleep for the next few hours. That's normal."
Ling didn't react at first.
Then her shoulders dropped. Just a fraction. Like something heavy finally slid off her spine.
"…Can I see her?" Ling asked, voice low, controlled by pure effort.
The doctor studied her for a second—blood on her cuffs, eyes red, knuckles bruised.
He nodded. "Briefly. She needs rest."
Ling inclined her head once. "Thank you."
She took one step toward the ICU door.
"Stop."
The word cut clean.
Ling froze.