Eliza inhaled, as if preparing to say something heavier. Her eyes flicked briefly to Victor—sharp, questioning.
Victor spoke immediately.
"Ling," he said casually, stepping forward, "did you eat at university today? You skipped lunch yesterday too."
Ling blinked, distracted. "I—yes. I ate."
Eliza turned to him sharply. "Victor."
He met her gaze calmly. "She's exhausted. This conversation can wait."
Eliza's jaw tightened.
"It can't always wait," she said quietly.
Ling looked between them, faintly puzzled. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Victor said at once. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Eliza opened her mouth.
Dadi cleared her throat loudly.
"Eliza," Dadi said gently but firmly, "the girl just came home. Let her breathe."
Eliza hesitated.
For a split second, something unreadable crossed her face—frustration, restraint, fear.
Then she smiled.
"Of course," Eliza said smoothly. "We'll talk later."
Ling nodded, already letting the matter slip from her mind. "Alright."
Eliza stood. "Rest tonight."
She left the room.
The moment she was gone, Dadi exhaled slowly.
Ling didn't notice.
She was still faintly smiling to herself, replaying a memory she refused to name.
Victor watched her closely, his expression troubled but gentle.
"Go change," he said softly. "Dinner will be ready soon."
Ling nodded and headed toward the stairs.
Halfway up, she paused, touched her cheek again without realizing it.
"Get it together," she murmured to herself.
Behind her, Dadi and Victor exchanged a long, heavy look.
"She doesn't know," Dadi whispered.
Victor shook his head. "Not yet."
Dadi's voice trembled slightly. "Three months isn't much time."
Victor said nothing.
Upstairs, Ling closed her bedroom door, leaned against it briefly, and let herself smile again—small, unguarded, dangerous.
She had no idea what had almost been said.
And no idea how little time she truly had.
Moonlight slipped through the tall glass panes, pale and cold, catching Ling's face as she slept.
Her room was silent.
Too silent.
The light traced the sharp line of her jaw, the stillness of her chest rising and falling in measured rhythm. Her hand lay open on the sheets, relaxed for once, fingers no longer clenched as if holding the world in place.
Then the air changed.
The walls were no longer walls.
Darkness pressed in from every side, thick and alive, pulsing like breath. The ground beneath her feet was not marble or stone but something damp, something that shifted when she moved.
Ling stood alone.
At first.
Whispers began—low, layered, overlapping. Not voices she recognized, not words she understood. They circled her, crawling over her skin rather than reaching her ears.
She turned slowly.
They were there.
Creatures—not fully formed, not fully human. Limbs bent the wrong way. Faces stretched and incomplete, mouths opening where eyes should be. Their skin looked old, cracked like dried earth, yet it moved as if breathing.
They closed in.
Ling didn't reach for fear. She reached for control.
"Enough," she said sharply.
The word vanished before it traveled.
The creatures tilted their heads in unison.
One stepped forward.
Its mouth opened, and a name fell out—broken, distorted.
"Zhen… Kwong…"
Ling's breath caught.
Another voice echoed it. Then another.
"Zhen Kwong."
Her uncle's name spread through them like a chant, like a summons. The sound scraped against something deep inside her chest, something old and buried.
"Stop," Ling said, her voice steady but louder now.
They didn't stop.
The ground beneath her feet trembled.
A sound came from below—wet, tearing, alive.
Ling looked down just as the earth split open.
Roots erupted upward—thick, black, twisted like veins. They didn't grow; they lunged.
One wrapped around her ankle.
Another snapped around her calf.
She reacted instantly, reaching down, fingers digging in, muscles straining—but the roots were stronger. More burst free, coiling around her legs, her waist, her arms.
They clenched.
Ling gasped as something tore.
Her skin split where the roots tightened, not cleanly—ripped, pulled apart. Pain exploded through her body, sharp and consuming.
Blood spilled.
Not red.
Black.
It flowed thick and heavy, staining her skin, dripping down the roots like ink soaking into paper.
Ling screamed.
The sound tore out of her raw and unrestrained, nothing controlled about it. She struggled, muscles screaming as much as her voice, but the roots only tightened further, digging into her flesh, tearing more skin, more black blood spilling.
Her vision blurred.
Tears streamed down her face.
These were red.
Bright, violent red, cutting hot paths down her cheeks as she thrashed helplessly.
"Stop—!" she cried hoarsely.
The creatures leaned closer.
Their mouths moved again.
This time, they didn't speak names.
They spoke something else.
Something ancient.
Something Ling could not understand—but her body did.
Her strength began to drain, fast and terrifying. Her limbs went numb. The roots pulled tighter, lifting her slightly off the ground, holding her suspended like a broken thing.
Her scream broke into a sob.
Then—
She saw her.
Dadi stood a few steps away.
Unmoving.
Watching.
Her face was calm. Too calm. Her eyes were wet, but she didn't move. Didn't reach out. Didn't shout.
"Dadi," Ling cried, her voice cracking, desperate and small in a way it never was.
Dadi said nothing.
The roots yanked again.
Ling's body went slack.
Her head fell forward, chin dropping to her chest, black blood still dripping, pooling beneath her like spilled shadow. Her breathing stuttered, shallow and weak.
The creatures straightened.
Their whispers faded.
Only the sound of roots tightening remained.
Dadi stood there, hands clasped, watching Ling hang limp in their grasp.
The moonlight above flickered—
And Ling screamed again, the sound ripping through the night, through walls, through sleep—
Her body jolted violently against the sheets.
Moonlight still touched her face.
But her breath came in ragged gasps, her skin drenched in sweat, fingers clawing at the mattress as if something had just let go.
Her chest burned.
Her throat hurt.
Something moved again.
Something sharper.
From the dark beneath her, a thin, bladed force drove upward—fast, precise, merciless—and punched straight into her chest.
The pain was instant and absolute.
Ling screamed.
Not a controlled sound. Not restrained.
A raw, torn scream that ripped through her throat like it might tear her apart from the inside.
Her back arched violently as the sharp presence twisted, burrowing deeper, pressing against her heart as if searching for something only it knew how to find.
Her vision exploded into white.
Her scream broke—
—and the world shattered.
Ling jerked upright in bed with a strangled gasp.
Her hand flew to her chest, fingers digging into skin as if expecting blood, roots, something sharp still lodged there.
There was nothing.
No wound.
No black blood.
Only sweat—soaking her clothes, her hair plastered to her face, her body trembling so hard the mattress shook beneath her.
Tears poured down her cheeks uncontrollably.
She couldn't breathe.
Couldn't speak.
Couldn't stop shaking.
"Ling—"
Eliza was there.
Too close, too fast—arms wrapping around her tightly, pulling her against a familiar chest. Eliza's hands trembled as she held her, one palm cradling the back of Ling's head.
"It's alright," Eliza whispered, voice breaking. "It's alright. You're here."
Ling tried to respond.
Nothing came out.
Her mouth opened, but no sound followed—only a sharp, broken inhale. Her whole body convulsed in Eliza's arms, teeth chattering violently, fingers clutching at her mother's sleeve like she might disappear if she let go.
Dadi stood at the foot of the bed.
She was crying openly.
Tears streamed down her face as one hand covered her mouth, the other pressed tight to her chest as if she were the one pierced.
"Oh, my child," Dadi whispered, her voice shaking. "Oh, my brave girl…"
Victor was beside her, pale, eyes red, one hand gripping the bedpost so hard his knuckles had gone white. He couldn't look away from Ling—couldn't look at anything else.
Rina stood frozen near the door.
She had never seen Ling like this.
Never.
The unshakable.
The fearless.
The one who stared down rooms full of powerful men without blinking.
Now—
Ling Kwong was terrified.
Her eyes were wide and glassy, unfocused, darting as if expecting something to emerge from the walls. Tears kept falling, hot and relentless, mixing with sweat as her breath came in uneven, panicked bursts.
She shook violently in Eliza's arms, unable to stop.
Eliza held her tighter.
"It was just a nightmare," she said, though her own tears kept falling. "Just a nightmare. You're safe."
Ling's fingers curled into Eliza's clothes desperately.
Her voice finally broke through—barely a whisper, cracked and ruined.
"It—"
Nothing.
She swallowed hard, throat working painfully.
"I—"
The words collapsed again.
She pressed her face into Eliza's shoulder, a small, broken sound leaving her chest—half sob, half breath.
Victor stepped forward slowly. He placed a hand on Ling's back, grounding, steady, though his own hand shook.
"You're not alone," he said softly. "We're all here."
Dadi moved closer, reaching out but hesitating—afraid to startle her.
"My tiger," Dadi whispered. "You were never meant to be afraid."
That did it.
Ling broke.
Her shoulders collapsed inward as a sob tore out of her, harsh and shaking. Tears soaked into Eliza's clothes as her body finally gave in, fear pouring out of her like something she'd been holding back for years.
Rina turned away, wiping her face roughly, jaw clenched hard.
The room was filled with quiet crying.
The strongest Kwong.
The unyielding one.
Reduced to trembling, sweat-soaked terror in the middle of the night—held together only by the arms of her family.
And none of them said what they were all thinking.
Because whatever had reached for Ling in the dark—
It hadn't felt like nothing.
And fear like that
doesn't come
without a reason.
Ling's shaking slowed.
Too suddenly.
Her grip on Eliza's clothes loosened, fingers uncurling one by one until her hand slid uselessly against Eliza's arm.
Her head tipped forward.
Her weight went slack.
"El—Ling?" Eliza whispered at first, confused more than afraid.
Ling didn't respond.
Her eyes were open—but distant, glassy, unfocused. Tears still slipped out from the corners, tracking down her temples into her hair, but her body no longer reacted to them.
"Eliza's breath hitched.
"Ling?" she said again, louder now.
Nothing.
"Eliza cupped Ling's face, thumbs brushing her cheeks. "Ling, look at me."
Ling heard it.
She heard everything.
Eliza's voice.
The panic creeping into it.
The sharp inhale Victor took behind them.
Dadi's whispered prayer.
She tried to answer.
She tried to move her fingers.
Her toes.
Her lips.
Nothing obeyed.
It was like being locked inside her own body—awake, aware, screaming silently while everything refused to respond.
Eliza felt it.
Her hands began to shake violently as she patted Ling's cheeks, faster now, harder.
"Ling—no—no, no, no—Ling!"
Her voice cracked into a scream.
"LING!"
Victor stepped forward instantly. "Eliza—"
"She's not responding," Eliza shouted, panic tearing free now. "Ling, move—move your hand, sweetheart—please—"
Ling tried.
She tried so hard it felt like her chest would split again.
Her vision blurred further as tears flooded her eyes, terror roaring inside her with nowhere to go.
Eliza pulled her closer, clutching her like a lifeline.
"Don't do this," Eliza begged, her forehead pressing against Ling's. "Please don't do this to me."
Dadi's voice cut through the panic—low, trembling, but clear.
"We have to use it."
Eliza froze.
Her head snapped up. "No."
"There is no time," Dadi said, tears streaming freely now. "You see her. She's trapped."
Victor looked between them sharply. "Eliza—"
"We can't," Eliza said, shaking her head violently. "Not now. We don't have much left."
Dadi stepped closer, her hands clenched. "There is no chance if we don't."
Eliza's breath came in broken gasps. She looked down at Ling—her daughter, limp in her arms, eyes open but unreachable, tears still falling.
Dadi's voice broke. "You will lose her."
Silence crashed down on the room.
Ling heard every word.
Use it.
Not much left.
No chance.
Her heart raced inside her chest, trapped in a body that would not answer.
Eliza's face crumpled.
For a long moment, she couldn't speak. She pressed her lips to Ling's hair, breathing her in like she might disappear if she didn't.
Then Eliza nodded.
Once.
Barely.
Her voice came out hoarse. "Fine."
Victor closed his eyes.
Rina's hand flew to her mouth.
Eliza tightened her hold on Ling, tears dropping onto her daughter's face.
"Hold on," Eliza whispered fiercely, though she didn't know if Ling could hear her. "Whatever you're stuck in—hold on."
Dadi turned toward the door.
"Prepare it," she said quietly. "There's no more waiting."
Ling lay helpless in her mother's arms, tears still falling, mind screaming into the dark—
As something unseen began to stir,
called not by fear,
but by desperation.