Ling took the call on the far edge of the camp.
Away from the fire.
Away from voices.
Away from anything that might witness the slightest fracture in his composure.
"Mom" glowed on the screen.
Ling answered on the second ring.
"Yes, Mother."
No softness.
"You were alone with her again," Eliza said. Not a question.
Ling's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "Mira exaggerates."
Silence.
The kind Eliza used like a blade, letting it hover just long enough to make the other person speak first.
"There was nothing inappropriate," Ling continued evenly. "She was injured. I handled it."
"You warmed her piercing with your mouth, right?" Eliza replied calmly.
The words landed clean. Surgical.
Ling's fingers curled slowly around the phone.
"That's not..."
"...medical," Eliza finished for him. "Don't insult me by pretending otherwise."
Ling exhaled through his nose. "You're listening to Mira."
"I'm listening to what my eyes have been trained to see for decades," Eliza said. "And I see fixation. I see you. I know you."
Ling straightened, spine stiff, pride bristling. "You see what you want to see."
"I see what you refused to," Eliza snapped, the first crack in her voice. "And I will not let you make this mistake."
"I didn't do anything wrong," Ling said coldly.
"No," Eliza agreed. "You did worse. Mira loved foolishly. You don't even admit you're falling."
Ling said nothing.
That silence told Eliza everything.
"You thought you were in control," Eliza continued. "You thought because you hadn't touched her the way you wanted to, because you hadn't said the word, that you weren't losing control."
Ling's grip tightened until the phone dug into his palm.
"You didn't know what I wanted," Ling said.
Eliza's voice lowered. "I knew exactly what you wanted. That girl didn't bow to you. She didn't fear you. And worst of all, she bled and you knelt."
Ling's breath stilled.
"She is not your equal," Eliza said sharply. "And she would destroy you if you let her."
Ling's voice was clipped now. Defensive. Controlled. Dangerous. "She is nothing."
Eliza laughed softly. Bitter. "That's what scared me."
A pause.
Then, firm. Absolute.
"Stay away from Rhea Noir."
Ling's lips pressed into a thin line.
"This is not a request," Eliza added. "This is a warning."
"I don't take warnings," Ling replied.
Eliza didn't raise her voice.
"Mira had been part of your life since childhood," Eliza continued. "She understand you. She fit. She didn't challenge your authority at every turn."
Ling said nothing.
"And this girl," Eliza added, almost dismissively, "did nothing but provoke you. Publicly. Repeatedly."
"She doesn't matter," Ling replied quickly.
Eliza's tone shifted, just slightly. "Then you should have no trouble proving it."
Ling's breath stilled.
"I wouldn't have my son distracted," Eliza said. "You had worked too hard to let some defiant fresher pull you off course."
Ling's pride flared. "I'm not off course."
"Yet you were talking to me from a campsite instead of resting," Eliza replied. "Because Mira cried. Because you were defensive. Because this conversation existed."
"Stay in control," Eliza said at last. Not unkind. Not cruel. Just firm. "That was all I asked of you."
Ling's voice hardened. "I was in control."
"You would be this time," Eliza said. "Because if you weren't, I would intervene. And I promise you, she would be the one who paid for it."
That did it.
Something dark stirred under Ling's ribs.
"You won't touch her," Ling said quietly.
Eliza smiled on the other end. Ling could hear it. "Then don't give me a reason to."
"Distance yourself. End this before it becomes something I need to interfere in."
Ling's jaw locked.
"I won't hurt Mira," Ling said.
"That's not what I'm worried about," Eliza answered. "I'm worried about you."
The call ended.
Ling lowered the phone slowly.
Around him, the camp was alive, laughter, firelight, careless youth.
Inside him, something ancient and violent shifted.
Ling stayed where he was, near the bikes, arms crossed, posture relaxed enough to convince anyone watching that he was exactly where he wanted to be.
People noticed.
They always did.
Someone laughed too loudly near the fire. Ling's gaze flicked there once, flat, dismissive, and the sound died instantly. Authority restored. Control intact.
Inside, it was a different story.
His thoughts circled one place like a wound he refused to touch.
Rhea.
Her silence.
Ling hated that silence more than Rhea's insults. At least the insults looked at him directly.
He told himself this was discipline. Distance. Strategy.
My mother was right, he thought, immediately rejecting the thought with quiet violence.
No. I was right.
His fingers flexed, remembering warmth they shouldn't remember. A waist that fit too easily under his palm. A breath that hitched because Ling was close, not because he ordered it to.
Ling's jaw tightened.
He schooled his expression again. Cold. Untouched. Untethered.
When Rina passed by and paused, eyebrow raised in question, Ling didn't look at her.
"I'm busy," Ling said before Rina could speak.
Rina watched him for a second longer than necessary, then smirked faintly and walked away.
Ling exhaled only when he was alone again.
Control, he reminded himself.
And yet,
He angled himself deliberately so he wouldn't see Rhea's tent.
Because if he looked, he knew exactly what would happen.
Mira sat near the fire, wrapped in her jacket, hands clasped loosely in her lap.
From the outside, she looked calm. Thoughtful. Almost serene.
Inside, she was glowing.
Ling didn't go back to Rhea.
Ling answered his mother's call.
Ling stayed away.
Mira watched Ling from across the camp, noting the rigid stillness, the way his shoulders were too straight, too locked.
He chose control, Mira told herself.
He chose me.
The satisfaction was sharp, but thin.
Because Ling wasn't looking at her either.
Mira's smile faltered when Ling didn't come sit beside her, didn't seek her out for comfort, didn't even glance her way.
She pressed her lips together.
He always do this, Mira thought. When something mattered too much.
That thought scared her.
Because Rhea wasn't supposed to matter.
Rhea was loud. Defiant. Temporary.
And yet Mira remembered what she saw in that tent, Ling's focus, his stillness, the way the world had narrowed down to one injured girl who didn't even want him.
Mira's fingers curled into her sleeve.
She told herself she won.
But the hollow feeling in her chest didn't listen.
>>>>>>>>
Rhea noticed before she admitted it.
Ling didn't come.
Not to check the wound.
Not to bark an order.
Not even to glare.
At first, Rhea told herself she didn't care.
She sat in her tent, phone face-down, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at the canvas wall like it personally offended her.
Good, she thought. Finally learned restraint.
The thought should have felt like victory.
It didn't.
Time passed differently when you were waiting without permission.
Rhea heard voices outside. Laughter. Someone revving a bike.
No footsteps she recognized.
Her chest tightened, not panic. Something worse. Disappointment she refused to name.
Of course he stayed away, Rhea thought bitterly. That's what he did. Took control. Then left.
Her mind twisted the memory cruelly.
Ling's hand leaving her waist.
Ling saying get some rest.
Ling walking away.
Rhea's jaw clenched.
She got what she wanted, Rhea told herself. Dominance. Compliance.
She pressed her palm against her sternum, annoyed at the ache there.
"You didn't matter," she whispered to the empty tent. "You never mattered."
The lie didn't settle.
Rhea lay back, staring at the dark, forcing her breathing steady.
She didn't cry again.
She wouldn't.
But her hand drifted unconsciously to her waist, to the place where Ling's touch had been firm and infuriating and, worst of all, careful.
Outside, Ling Kwong stood rigid in the cold night, Mira watched from the firelight with a smile she didn't trust, and Rhea Noir stared at absence like it was an answer.
Night fell and they got back to their tents.
None of them said a word.
And all of them were wrong.