Zifa took a cautious bite. Her eyes widened, just a fraction.
She swallowed quickly, glancing between Ling and Rhea.
"It's…," Zifa said.
Before she could complain about salt.
Ling's gaze snapped to her, sharp, warning.
Zifa immediately straightened. "Really good."
Rhea didn't notice the exchange. She was already plating, movements efficient, elegant even in the dirt.
Mira leaned in slightly, expectant. Waiting.
Rhea didn't look at her. She served Ling. Served Zifa.
Then set the pot aside.
Mira's smile froze. "Aren't you going to..."
"No," Rhea said simply.
The word was quiet.
Absolute.
Ling watched that moment carefully, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
Deen arrived then, clipboard in hand, tasting his way through the teams.
He sampled theirs last.
Rhea stood back, arms folded, detached. She didn't watch his face. She didn't wait for approval.
Deen tasted.
Paused.
Looked at Ling.
Said nothing.
He scribbled something and moved on.
Of course.
Positions were announced shortly after.
Another team took first.
Another second.
Ling's group wasn't mentioned.
Zifa looked disappointed. Mira looked relieved, almost smug.
Rhea didn't react at all.
She didn't realize the salt was heavy. She didn't realize the restraint it took to balance flavor without tools. She didn't realize she cooked remarkably under jungle conditions.
She just washed her hands at the stream, expression distant, pride intact, ego untouched.
Ling watched her from across the clearing.
Watched how she didn't seek validation.
How she didn't sulk.
How she didn't even notice she deserved better.
Something tightened in Ling's chest.
Rhea finally turned back to the pot.
Almost as an afterthought.
She lifted the spoon, brought it toward herself, more habit than curiosity.
Ling moved instantly.
"You don't have to," Ling said, sharp, stepping closer. "I like it. I'll eat."
Rhea paused mid-air, eyebrow arching. "You're the judge now?"
Ling reached for the pot. "I'm eating. That's enough."
Rhea pulled the spoon back, frowning. "Relax. I just want to taste."
Ling's hand closed around the spoon before Rhea could take it to her mouth.
"No," Ling said. Not loud. Final.
Rhea blinked, irritation flashing. "What's your problem? I cooked it. I can taste it."
Ling lifted the pot slightly away from her, possessive without realizing it. "You won't."
Rhea stared at him, then scoffed. "Wow. I didn't know my cooking was that irresistable."
She rolled her eyes, stepping back. "Fine. Eat it all. Clearly it's a masterpiece."
Ling didn't answer.
He sat down with the pot. Like nothing was wrong.
Rhea turned away, already dismissing it from her mind.
She didn't taste the excess salt.
She didn't see Deen's hesitation replaying behind Ling's eyes.
She didn't realize Ling had just taken disappointment onto himself, quietly, instinctively, without a word.
Mine, he thought, about the food.
And then, disturbingly, about the girl who made it.
Across the fire, Rhea laughed at something Zifa said, utterly oblivious.
And Ling let her stay that way.
Rhea noticed after a while.
Ling wasn't eating.
The pot sat in front of him, barely touched.
Rhea frowned, irritation pricking first. "If you like it so much," she said dryly, "why aren't you eating now?"
Ling looked up.
For a fraction of a second, something unreadable flashed in his eyes.
Then he picked up the spoon.
And ate.
Big bites.
Deliberate.
Zifa's eyes widened as she watched Ling swallow without flinching.
The salt hit immediately, sharp, overwhelming. Zifa could almost taste it just by watching. Her stomach tightened.
Oh.
Understanding settled heavy in her chest.
Ling kept eating.
His expression didn't change. His posture stayed relaxed. Only his jaw worked a little harder than necessary.
Rhea watched, confused at first.
Then she saw it, the tension at Ling's mouth, the way he drank water too fast afterward, the controlled stillness that meant he was enduring something.
Rhea's brows drew together.
She stepped closer. "Wait."
Ling didn't stop.
Rhea's voice softened despite herself. "It's good," she said suddenly. "Really good. I mean it."
Ling paused just long enough to look at her.
Rhea lifted her chin, pride intact. "I cooked it. Of course it's good."
Ling's lips twitched, almost a smile.
Mira chose that moment.
She reached for the spoon lightly. "Let me try..."
Ling moved without looking.
His hand came down, firm, pushing Mira's wrist away.
"No."
The word was calm. Absolute.
Mira froze, stunned.
Ling continued eating.
Rhea still oblivious.
Ling Kwong didn't take the pot to control her.
He took it to protect her.
Ling ate until the pot was almost empty.
Each bite was heavier than the last. The salt clawed at his tongue, dried his throat, burned all the way down. His head started to throb, slow, punishing pulses behind his eyes, but his face stayed blank.
Zifa couldn't look anymore.
Rhea watched, unsettled now, brows knitting together. "Okay," she said slowly. "That's enough."
Ling stood.
"I'm done," he said, voice even.
He walked away without another word.
The moment he was out of sight, behind the trees, beyond the camp noise, he bent over.
Hard.
His stomach rebelled violently.
He gripped a tree trunk as he vomited, throat burning, eyes instantly red, watering uncontrollably. His breath came sharp and uneven, forehead resting against rough bark.
Salt.
Water.
Pain.
His head pounded like it was being punished for a mistake he refused to name.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, jaw clenched, forcing himself upright again.
Pathetic, he thought, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Still worth it, he told himself coldly and smiled foolishly.
Back at the fire, Rhea stared at the half-empty pot.
"If he likes it that much," she muttered, "it can't be bad."
She tasted.
The reaction was instant.
She spat it out, coughing once, sharp and startled. "What the..."
Salt. Too much. Overwhelming.
Her stomach dropped.
Zifa winced. "Yeah."
Rhea stared at the pot now like it personally betrayed her.
"This is..." She tasted again just to be sure, then spat it out harder. "This is insanely salty."
Her chest tightened.
She looked instinctively toward the trees.
Toward where Ling disappeared.
"Oh."
The word left her softly. Not anger. Not ego.
Realization.
She lowered the spoon slowly.
Ling didn't stop her because he wanted the food.
Ling stopped her because he didn't want her to know.
Didn't want her pride bruised.
Didn't want her to hear Deen's silence echoed by her own mouth.
Rhea's jaw tightened.
She set the pot down with controlled care, eyes dark now, unreadable.
Mira didn't miss a second.
"You let him eat that?" Mira snapped, disbelief sharpened into accusation. "Do you have any idea how much salt this has?"
Rhea froze.
"What?" she said flatly.
"You didn't even taste it before serving," Mira continued, voice rising. "He ate all of it for you. That's not cooking... that's carelessness."
Rhea's chest tightened, anger flaring on instinct. "I didn't know it was salty."
Mira scoffed. "Convenient."
Rhea's jaw set, pride bristling. "I wouldn't poison someone on purpose."
"Intent doesn't matter," Mira fired back. "He pretended it was good so you wouldn't be embarrassed... and you let him."
The words landed hard.
"He didn't need to act like that," Mira muttered. "It was poison."
Rhea turned.
Her gaze was sharp enough to cut.
"Don't," she said quietly.
Mira faltered. "What?"
Rhea stepped closer, voice low, dangerous. "You control your mouth."
Mira opened her mouth...
And closed it.
Rhea looked back toward the jungle, fingers curling slowly at her side.
Rhea didn't answer.
Because the memory was replaying now, Ling's big bites. The way he drank water too fast. The stillness that wasn't indifference.
She looked toward the trees.
Ling wasn't there.