Rhea stood outside Ling's office for a long moment before going in.
Her hands were shaking so badly she had to press the stack of papers against her chest just to keep them from slipping. Her fingers were cramped, swollen, streaked with blue ink. Her wrist throbbed. Her shoulders ached from hours of writing without pause.
Her eyes burned.
She pushed the door open.
Ling was behind her desk.
The moment Ling looked up, she saw it—Rhea's state. The pale face. The red eyes. The way she was standing like her body might give out if she shifted her weight wrong.
Rhea walked forward slowly and placed the stack on the desk.
Thud.
She didn't say anything.
Ling picked them up.
She flipped through them carefully. Too carefully. One page after another. Her jaw was tight, her expression unreadable, her control forced back into place like armor.
Then Ling looked up.
"Are these," she asked coldly, "exactly one hundred?"
That was it.
Something inside Rhea snapped so completely it scared even her.
She grabbed the stack back suddenly and threw it straight at Ling's face.
Papers exploded into the air, fluttering down like torn feathers.
"Yes!" Rhea shouted, tears finally spilling freely. "They're one hundred! I counted them while my hand felt like it was breaking—while people laughed at me—while you—"
Her voice broke.
"You wanted obedience?" Rhea cried. "There it is!"
Ling froze.
Rhea's chest heaved violently. She was shaking now, exhaustion crashing over her all at once.
"I didn't eat," Rhea sobbed. "I didn't sit. I didn't stop. My hand hurts, my head hurts, everything hurts—and you're still asking if it's exactly one hundred?"
She laughed hysterically through tears. "What do you want from me, Ling? Blood?"
Ling moved.
Fast.
She came around the desk and grabbed Rhea from behind, pulling her back against her chest, arms wrapping around her tightly.
"Calm down," Ling said urgently, voice breaking despite herself. "Please—Rhea, calm down."
That was the worst thing she could have said.
Rhea let out a raw, broken sound and snapped.
"Don't touch me!" she screamed.
She spun violently in Ling's arms and grabbed Ling by the collar with both hands, fingers clutching the fabric like she was holding on to the edge of a cliff.
"You don't get to calm me down!" Rhea cried, shaking Ling hard. "You don't get to break me all day and then hold me like this!"
Ling didn't stop her.
She didn't push her away.
She let Rhea grip her, let her fists bunch the fabric, let her shake with sobs and fury pressed against her chest.
"I hate you!" Rhea screamed, tears streaming uncontrollably now. "I hate you for leaving, I hate you for coming back, I hate you for looking at me like I'm nothing!"
Her grip tightened.
"You humiliated me," Rhea choked. "In front of everyone. Like I was small. Like I was disposable."
Ling's breath was uneven now. Her hands hovered—wanting to hold, afraid to.
"I didn't mean for it to go that far," Ling said hoarsely. "I was angry—"
"Angry?" Rhea laughed bitterly. "I was freezing to death in a locked room and you were angry?"
Ling's face went white.
Rhea's voice dropped, shaking, dangerous. "I almost died. And you punish me for avoiding you?"
Ling's throat tightened painfully. "I didn't know."
Rhea shook her head, tears dripping off her chin. "You never want to know. You just want control."
Ling finally grabbed Rhea's wrists—not roughly, but firmly—holding them still.
"Look at me," Ling said.
Rhea tried to turn away.
Ling tightened her hold just enough to stop her. "Look at me."
Rhea did.
Their faces were inches apart.
Ling's eyes were red now. Wet. Barely holding together.
"I didn't ask for one hundred applications to break you," Ling said lowly. "I asked because you ran from me."
Rhea's lips trembled. "I ran because you always hurt me when I stay."
Ling swallowed hard.
"And yet," Ling said quietly, "you still came."
Rhea let out a broken sob, her strength finally giving out. Her grip on Ling's collar loosened, her body sagging forward.
Ling caught her instantly.
This time, Rhea didn't fight it.
She collapsed against Ling's chest, fists clutching her coat weakly, crying like she'd been holding it in for years.
"I'm so tired," Rhea whispered, barely audible. "I'm so tired of hating you."
Ling closed her eyes tightly.
Papers lay scattered across the floor.
The office door was closed.
Then Rhea shoved Ling hard.
Both palms slammed into Ling's chest, forcing her back a step. Ling didn't fall—but the impact hit somewhere deeper than bone.
"You're too good at this," Rhea said, her voice shaking with rage and pain twisted together. Tears streamed freely now, no pride left to protect. "First you humiliate me. You crush me in front of everyone. Then you pretend like you care."
Ling opened her mouth.
Rhea didn't let her.
"I hate you," Rhea screamed, her voice cracking violently. "I hate you so much you can't even think straight. I hate you to death, Ling. To death!"
Her chest rose and fell erratically. Her face was flushed, eyes wild, lips trembling from cold and fury and exhaustion all tangled together.
Ling stood frozen.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides—not in anger, but because if she reached out, she knew she'd break something that couldn't be fixed.
"You don't get to touch me," Rhea went on hoarsely. "You don't get to hold me. You don't get to decide when I fall apart."
She laughed bitterly, wiping her tears harshly with the back of her hand. "You think hugging me fixes what you did? You think a soft voice erases humiliation?"
Ling's jaw tightened. Her eyes were red now, glassy, but her face stayed controlled—too controlled.
"I never said it fixes anything," Ling replied quietly.
That calm tone snapped something else inside Rhea.
"Don't talk to me like that!" Rhea shouted. "Like you're above it. Like you're the saint here."