The moment she opened it, everything collapsed forward.
Letters.
Boxes.
Wrapped bundles.
Envelopes tied with thin string.
Notes folded, refolded, creased from handling.
They spilled out cascading into her arms, hitting the floor, sliding against her shoes.
Too many.
Far too many.
Rhea froze.
Her breath caught painfully in her chest.
"No…" she whispered.
Her hands trembled as she knelt instinctively, gathering the fallen things against herself before anyone could see. Her fingers brushed familiar paper. Familiar handwriting.
Ling's.
Not copied.
Not delegated.
Not careless.
Written.
Again.
Another night.
She didn't need to be told.
She knew.
Ling Kwong hadn't slept again.
Rhea's vision blurred instantly.
Her chest tightened so sharply she had to brace one hand against the locker door to stay upright. The corridor noise faded into a distant hum as memory slammed into her without mercy.
Fire.
Ash.
The garden.
The way the letters had curled and blackened.
The way she had screamed.
Her lips trembled.
Tears fell silently this time landing on the top envelope, darkening the paper.
"She did it again," Rhea whispered, voice breaking. "She stayed awake again…"
Her fingers clutched the letters tighter, knuckles whitening. This wasn't manipulation. This wasn't spectacle.
Ling never repeated effort unless it mattered.
Rhea pressed the stack to her chest, shaking now despite herself.
She didn't know, Rhea realized, the thought slicing through her. She doesn't know they burned.
Ling had come home, broken, condemned, shamed and still sat up through the night writing again. Replacing what was lost without knowing why it vanished.
Rhea squeezed her eyes shut.
A sob escaped her before she could stop it.
Students passed nearby, laughing, unaware. Rhea turned slightly, shielding the letters with her body, her hair falling forward like a curtain.
"She's so stupid," Rhea whispered through tears. "So stupid to still—"
She couldn't finish.
Her throat closed completely.
One envelope slipped free and landed open-side up. Rhea saw a line without meaning to.
I know you won't forgive me quickly. I'll wait anyway.
Her breath shattered.
She didn't read.
She couldn't.
Her shoulders shook violently.
Last night replayed in fragments the firelight, Kane's grip, the certainty that something had been destroyed forever.
And yet here it was.
Again.
Proof that Ling Kwong was relentless even in remorse. Dangerous even in love. Incapable of stopping herself once Rhea existed in her orbit.
Rhea wiped her face roughly with her sleeve and stood.
Her eyes were red. Her expression wasn't.
Rhea's shoulders were still shaking when the footsteps approached.
She hadn't heard them at first too lost in the pressure crushing her chest, too focused on keeping her breathing quiet, contained, invisible. Her face was turned slightly toward the lockers, one hand braced against the metal, eyes wet, lashes clumped.
Then the corridor shifted.
Silence fell the way it always did.
Ling Kwong had entered.
She came with her usual formation Rina at her side, Jian and Rowen a step behind presence heavy enough to bend the air. Conversations nearby died instantly. Students moved away without being told.
Ling saw Rhea.
And stopped.
For a fraction of a second, everything in Ling froze.
Rhea was crying.
Not angry.
Not sharp.
Not fighting.
Crying.
Ling's chest tightened violently, an instinctive reaction she despised. Her jaw clenched as she took in the sight Rhea's lowered head, the trembling breath, the way she was trying to hide it and failing.
Ling stepped forward before she could stop herself.
Rhea heard her then.
She turned sharply, eyes blazing through tears, face flushed with grief and rage twisted together.
"Why do you do this?" Rhea shouted.
The sound cracked through the corridor like glass breaking.
Everyone froze.
Ling flinched barely but enough.
"What?" Ling asked, caught off guard.
"Why won't you stop?" Rhea cried, voice breaking completely now. "Why do you keep doing this to me?"
Ling's mind raced fast, ruthless, wrong.
She looked at the locker.
The overflow.
The gifts.
The letters spilling out again.
Understanding or what she thought was understanding snapped into place.
Ling's voice softened despite herself. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't know you'd cry."
The words landed wrong.
Rhea let out a bitter, broken laugh that hurt to hear.
"You didn't know," Rhea repeated hollowly.
Ling took another step closer, hands lifting instinctively then stopping midair, remembering promises she had made about space, about control.
She turned sharply instead.
"Jian. Rowen," Ling ordered, voice cutting and cold. "Pick everything up. Now. Get it away from her."
Jian and Rowen moved instantly.
They knelt, gathering letters, boxes, notes careful, efficient, shielding Rhea from the sight as much as possible. Rowen swept scattered envelopes into a neat pile. Jian picked up a gift that had rolled near Rhea's foot and tucked it back into Ling's bag.
Rina watched silently, eyes flicking between Rhea and Ling, sensing something off but not understanding it yet.
Ling crouched herself, ignoring the stares, and reached for the items closest to Rhea the ones that had fallen at her knees. Her fingers brushed paper still warm from Rhea's hands.
"I'll take them," Ling said, quieter now. "I won't push."
She picked them up herself, deliberately, as if taking responsibility would make this moment controllable.
Rhea stared at her really stared and something in her expression shifted.
Ling didn't see it.
Ling couldn't see it.
Because Ling was still convinced of the wrong truth.
She thought Rhea was crying because she was overwhelmed.
Because she was irritated.
Because the gifts were too much, too soon, too intrusive.
Ling had no idea Rhea's tears were not for the letters in front of her.
They were for the ones that had turned to ash.
"She thinks this is because of her." Rhea realized distantly, a hollow ache spreading through her ribs.
Rhea's hands curled into fists at her sides.
"You don't get it," Rhea said hoarsely.
Ling straightened, tension pulling her shoulders tight. "Then tell me."
Rhea shook her head.
"No," she whispered. "If I open my mouth, I'll destroy everything."
Ling's brows drew together. "Rhea—"
"Just stop," Rhea snapped suddenly, louder again. "Stop trying to fix what you already broke."
Ling recoiled this time visibly.
The corridor felt too small.
Jian finished collecting the last envelope and stood. Rowen stepped back, bag secured, eyes flicking uneasily between them.
Ling forced her voice steady. "I thought… I thought you were angry about these."
She gestured vaguely at the bag.
Rhea laughed again a sound stripped of humor.
"You always think too late," Rhea said.
Ling's lips parted, confusion flickering through her composure.
"What does that mean?"
Rhea wiped her face harshly with the back of her hand, smearing tears away as if ashamed of them.
"It means," she said quietly, "you don't get to decide why I cry."
Ling went still.
For the first time since entering the corridor, uncertainty crept into her posture.
She opened her mouth to say something anything —
Rhea stepped back.
"Don't," Rhea warned. "Not here. Not now."
"She's angry," Ling muttered to herself, forcing the explanation into place. "She'll cool down."
And Ling Kwong brilliant, cruel, obsessive had no idea that the tears she'd just witnessed had nothing to do with the gifts she was holding…
…and everything to do with the ones that had already burned.
"Rhea—"
Ling reached out.
Just one step. Just one word.
"I'm sorry."
The apology was immediate, instinctive and completely wrong.
Rhea stopped so suddenly Ling nearly walked into her.
Rhea turned.
And whatever restraint she had left shattered.
"Sorry?" Rhea repeated, incredulous. "That's what you think this is?"
Ling stiffened, confusion flickering across her face. "I thought—"
"You always think," Rhea snapped, voice rising. "And you're always wrong."
Before Ling could react, Rhea grabbed her by the front of her jacket and slammed her back against the lockers with brutal force.
The sound echoed.
Metal rattled.
Ling's breath knocked out of her chest.
Rhea pinned her there forearm pressed hard against Ling's collarbone, fingers fisted in fabric, rage shaking through her entire body. Their foreheads collided, noses brushing, breaths harsh and uneven.
Ling didn't push back.
For once, she went still.
Students nearby scattered instantly. Fear moved faster than curiosity.
Rhea's eyes burned red, furious, devastated.
"I hate you," Rhea said through clenched teeth. "I hate you so much I can't breathe."
Ling swallowed, voice low. "Iii—"
Rhea cut her off violently.
"But I want them," she choked. "All of them. Every word. Every letter. I don't know why I want them when I hate you like this."
Her grip tightened.
Her voice broke.
"I don't know why you still have this power over me."
Ling's heart slammed painfully against her ribs.
This wasn't irritation.
This wasn't rejection.
This was grief tangled with need something far more dangerous.
Ling lifted her free hand slowly, deliberately.
Not to touch Rhea.
But to gesture behind her.
"Go," Ling said quietly.
Rina hesitated. "Ling—"
"Now."
The command was final.
Jian and Rowen moved immediately, pulling Rina back with them. Within seconds, the corridor was empty doors closing, footsteps retreating, silence sealing them in.
Only Ling and Rhea remained.
Rhea didn't release her.
Ling exhaled shakily. "You can have them," she said softly. "I never meant to take them away."
Rhea laughed sharp, wounded. "You think this is about possession?"
She leaned closer, forehead still pressed to Ling's, voice dropping into something raw and terrifying.
"You don't get it," Rhea whispered. "You don't get what was taken from me."
Ling's brows knit together. "What are you talking about?"
Rhea's jaw trembled.
Her eyes filled again but these tears didn't fall.
"Wrong guess," Rhea said bitterly. "Again."
She shoved Ling back suddenly, releasing her grip as if touching her had burned.
"Don't apologize for things you don't even understand," Rhea continued. "It makes it worse."
Ling steadied herself against the locker, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on Rhea with something close to panic now.
"Then tell me," Ling said, voice stripped bare. "Tell me what I missed."
Rhea shook her head violently.
"No," she said. "Because if I do… I won't survive saying it out loud."
She stepped back, creating distance deliberate, painful.
"You think my anger is about your gifts," Rhea said coldly. "You think my tears are about being overwhelmed."
She laughed again, hollow.
"You're so arrogant you don't even realize how wrong you are."
Ling's throat tightened. "Rhea—"
"Stay away from me," Rhea said sharply. "Until you learn to listen instead of assume."
She turned to leave then stopped.
Without looking back, she added quietly:
"And don't you dare stop writing."
Ling froze.
Rhea walked away.
Her footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving Ling alone shaken, confused, heart racing with a realization she couldn't fully grasp yet.
Something fundamental had happened.
Something had been destroyed.
And Ling Kwong, for all her intelligence and cruelty, had misread it completely.
She pressed her palm flat against the locker where Rhea had pinned her moments earlier.
Her voice came out hoarse, barely audible to the empty hall.
"What did I miss?"
Confusion hardened into irritation. Irritation into control.
Ling exhaled sharply.
"Enough," she muttered.
She crouched, scooping up the scattered envelopes, boxes, folded papers her handwriting everywhere, her sleepless nights compressed into weight. She shoved everything into her bag with force, careless now, rough, jaw set.
Her squad hovered nearby, watching her closely.
Ling straightened and turned to Jian. "Take this."
She shoved the bag into his chest.
Jian blinked. "What—"
"Throw it," Ling said flatly. "All of it."
Rina's head snapped up. "Ling—"
"Now."
Jian hesitated only a second before nodding. He turned and walked away, bag slung over his shoulder, footsteps heavy.
Ling didn't look back.
They walked together toward the exit, the air tense, Ling's hands shoved deep into her pockets, shoulders tight.