Chapter 14: The Aftermath and the Unspoken Thing
The silence in Qu Tang's apartment was absolute. The adrenaline that had been a roaring tide in her veins during the broadcast now receded, leaving her shaky and cold. She sat on the floor, her back against the couch, arms wrapped around her knees. The cheerful chaos of her studio—the silly fan art, the blue noodle still stuck to the counter—seemed to mock her. The real world, with its plasma fire and silent, professional intruders, had violently intruded upon her sanctuary.
Her terminal was blowing up. Notifications from the Arena, news outlets, and countless fans scrolled in a frantic, endless stream. The galactic net was losing its collective mind over the "Battle of the Howling Duet." But the noise felt distant, muffled by the memory of Lang Mo's grim face, the sound of combat, and the terrifying realization that Jin Chen viewed her not just as a possession, but as one he was willing to break to keep.
A soft, almost hesitant chime came from her terminal—a private, encrypted channel request. The ID was a simple string of numbers, but her heart knew. It was him.
She accepted, her finger trembling slightly.
His face filled the screen. He was back on the bridge of his ship, the stark, functional background a contrast to the warm mess of her home. The grime was gone from his face, but he looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper than she remembered. The fearsome White Wolf Patriarch was gone. In his place was just a man who had just been in a fight.
"Qu Tang." Her name was a low exhale, laden with a weight that went far beyond the two syllables.
"Lang Mo." Her voice was small, the bravado from the stream utterly vanished. "Are you... are you okay?"
"I am unharmed," he said, his gaze intense, searching her face through the screen. "The intruders are contained. They will be dealt with." The flat, cold promise in those last words sent a shiver down her spine. "It is you I am concerned about. That was... a violation. I did not anticipate his reach would extend to such direct action over this."
She gave a weak, shaky laugh. "Guess he really doesn't like sharing his toys."
Lang Mo's expression darkened. "You are not a toy." The words were sharp, definitive. "What happened today was unacceptable. It will not happen again."
There was a long pause. The unspoken thing hung between them, thick and heavy. The music. The way their voices had fit together, not as exes, but as two halves of a whole. The terrifying, thrilling synergy that had been born just moments before it was almost destroyed.
"Your song..." he began, uncharacteristically hesitant. "During the... disturbance. It was... different. It was not just music."
"It was all I could do," she whispered, finally voicing the fear she'd held back. "I was so scared for you. I just... I poured it all into the song."
He was silent for a moment, processing this. That her music wasn't just a performance, but a direct conduit for her emotions. That her fear had been for him.
"I could feel it," he admitted quietly, the confession seeming to surprise even him. He looked down at his hands, then back at her. "My mental sea... it is never quiet. It is a battlefield of echoes. Always. But when you sang... during the fight... the echoes did not quiet. They... aligned. They focused. It was not peace. It was clarity."
Qu Tang's breath caught. This was more than a compliment on her technique. This was a glimpse into the fortress of his mind, a vulnerability he was offering her.
"The chant," she said, seizing on the musical thread to steer them away from the emotional precipice. "The 'Howl of the Ironwood Pack.' It was beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with me."
"It has never been shared outside the clan," he said, his eyes holding hers. "It felt... right. To sing it with you."
The silence stretched again, but this time it was different. It wasn't filled with the memory of fear, but with the lingering echo of their duet and the weight of his confession.
"The Arena is demanding an answer," he said, his voice returning to a more practical, though still gentle, tone. "They want to know if we will proceed with the full public performance."
Qu Tang looked around her apartment, at the evidence of the life she had built with her own two hands. She thought of Jin Chen's glittering cage and his violent response to her collaboration. To back down now would be to let him win. To let fear dictate her art.
She thought of Lang Mo's voice, raw and real, blending with hers.
She lifted her chin, a spark of her familiar defiance returning. "What do you think, SilentListener? Should we give them the rest of the song?"
A slow, rare, and genuine smile touched Lang Mo's lips. It transformed his entire face, warming the ice in his eyes. "I believe we must. The pack howl has been started. It would be wrong not to finish it."
"Then it's settled," she said, a real smile finally breaking through her own anxiety. "The Howling Duet is back on."
He nodded. "I will make arrangements. Security will be... absolute." The warmth vanished, replaced by the protective gleam of the Wolf. "You will be safe. I give you my word."
As the call ended, Qu Tang felt the cold fear recede, replaced by a new, steady warmth. The threat was real. But she wasn't facing it alone. An unspoken alliance had been forged in that rehearsal, something far more potent than their failed marriage had ever been. They were no longer husband and wife. They were fellow artists, and now, comrades-in-arms. And they had a song to finish.