Rain pattered softly against the windows.
When Parin entered the office, Manida was seated by the window, glasses on, reading. The warm lamplight traced her calm profile.
For a moment, Parin simply watched her—thinking how strange it was that the person she once called an enemy had become the one she most wanted to protect.
"Waiting for me again?" Parin teased lightly.
Manida looked up, her tone calm but her gaze gentle. "You think I'm waiting for you, but really—it's you who always comes back."
Parin froze for a moment, then smiled. She stepped closer and, without warning, removed Manida's glasses. "You wear these too long. It tires your eyes."
The space between them vanished. Manida's breath faltered.
Before she could retreat, Parin caught her wrist.
"Stop running," she whispered.
The rain outside grew heavier. The air pulsed with unspoken tension.
They didn't cross the line that night—but something irreversible shifted.
When Manida returned home, the warmth of that touch still lingered.
But on her desk—
A new envelope waited.
Black paper. One chilling sentence:
"You think she can protect you? She's the one who should disappear."
Her hands shook as she gripped the note. The fear was no longer for herself.
Parin was the real target.
The next morning, Parin knocked on her door.
Seeing the exhaustion in Manida's eyes, she said nothing—just pulled her into an embrace.
"Don't be afraid," she whispered. "Whatever happens, I won't let you go."
Manida froze, then slowly, finally, returned the hug.
It was no longer flirtation.
It was need.
It was truth.
And outside, unseen, a pair of cold eyes watched from the shadows.
The trap was closing.