Se-Ri's POV
The next morning started as expected: loud, chaotic, and fifteen minutes behind schedule.
Rhea was yelling about someone forgetting the snacks. Amisha was fighting with a curling iron. Ren stood in the driveway with two backpacks and a worried expression, like someone had accidentally enrolled him in wilderness therapy.
Three matte-black SUVs idled outside the estate, gleaming like overpaid bodyguards. I planned to sit in the quietest one, ideally with my sunglasses on and my thoughts off. But Rhea had other plans.
"Leo! Se-Ri! Middle van!" she called. "You two don't talk much, so you won't drive each other crazy. Perfect match."
I gave her a stare that deserved to be framed.
Leo, naturally, said nothing. Just followed instructions and climbed into the second van like it was a boardroom.
I followed. Black leather seats. Crisp scent of eucalyptus. Dead quiet.
We sat side by side. Not too close. Not too far.
For the first few minutes, neither of us said anything. We stared out opposite windows like that was the arrangement.
Eventually, I broke. "Are you always this... reserved?"
He didn't look over. "Usually."
"You do know this is a social trip, right? Not a reconnaissance mission?"
"I find it easier to observe first."
"Observe what? Isn't it better to talk? People don't feel offended, at least."
He turned then. Met my gaze, unblinking. "Did you feel offended?"
"Of course," I said, rolling my eyes.
"Sorry for that."
We fell into a rhythm after that. No deep conversation. Just a few dry remarks.
I told him, casually, that I actually liked hiking.
"Really?" he said, a little surprised.
"Yes, really. Vancouver kid. Forest hikes were mandatory growing up. I know how to spot bear scat, thank you very much."
He nodded, thoughtful. "That tracks."
"What, because I look like I enjoy struggle?"
"Because you look like you like quiet things that push back."
And somehow, that didn't feel like an insult.
Arrival at Glacier Ridge
The chalet was ridiculous. Cedar, glass, panoramic views of snow-capped peaks. Rhea greeted us like she owned the mountain. The house manager handed out keycards. I was assigned the room next to Leo's, because of course I was.
Ren made a sound of quiet awe and disappeared to photograph the view.
Amisha declared she would not be hiking because her boots clashed with her outfit.
An hour later, we set out.
The Hike
It started normal: chatter, snacks, Instagram stories. Rhea led with energy only possessed by brides and cult leaders. The group splintered halfway up the ridge.
Amisha turned back. Ren slowed down to talk to a girl cousin. Rajveer caught up to Rhea. That left me... with Leo.
We walked in silence for a while, breathing in pine and damp moss and something colder underneath.
"Do you always hike in silk scarves?" he asked finally.
"Do you always hike like you're being followed?"
He almost smiled.
The conversation turned to family. He spoke more than usual. Told me his father remarried when he was sixteen. He moved to Shanghai afterward, but he frequently visited Canada because of Ren. He mentioned that Ren is half British.
I listened, and suddenly noticed that he didn't say anything about his mother. Not thinking, I asked, "What about your mother? You didn't mention her."
He looked into my eyes and said nothing.
I felt it instantly — I'd asked the wrong question.
Then I stumbled slightly on loose gravel. Not dramatic, but enough. He steadied me with one hand. Just one.
"Thanks," I said.
He didn't let go right away.
Then he did.
The Hot Springs
That evening, after dinner, we changed into robes and hiked to the hot springs.
It was dark and steam curled around everything. The water glowed faintly. Everyone piled in. The heat softened all the edges.
I sat near Leo, because that's where space opened up. Our legs brushed. Once. Twice. Neither of us moved.
Amisha made jokes. Rhea asked invasive questions. Ren started a story about an AI glitch that turned into a philosophical debate.
Leo said nothing.
I barely spoke. I was cautious — still thinking about the question I shouldn't have asked.
Later, we had dinner and everyone went to sleep.
The Kitchen, Late
I couldn't sleep.
Too many stars. Too much stillness. I went to the kitchen for tea.
He was already there. Barefoot. Drinking hot water. Like insomnia was just another meeting.
We didn't speak at first.
Then he asked, "Did you always plan to build something of your own?"
I looked at him. "Yes. Always."
"Even before the accident?"
I didn't flinch. But I felt it.
"Especially after."
He nodded. Took another sip. Set the cup down.
"You're not what I expected," he said softly.
I swallowed. "You either."
He didn't ask what I meant. He just nodded once and walked out.
Leaving me alone with the tea — and the very specific ache of being understood too clearly, too soon.