Ling kept talking immediately, refusing to leave space for slipping away.
"You remember the freezer at the old research wing?" Ling said suddenly. "The one you hated?"
Rhea frowned faintly. "…You locked me in… once…"
Ling winced. "For five minutes. You broke the thermostat."
"You apologized… with coffee…"
"And you threw it at me," Ling said, a ghost of a smile breaking through. "We were terrible."
Rhea murmured, "…Still are…"
Ling kissed her hair, slow and grounding. "Yes. But you're still here to complain about it."
She tightened her hold again as another shiver ran through both of them. "Stay with me," Ling said softly now, no edge left to hide behind. "Just stay."
Rhea's fingers twitched again, weak but deliberate, curling into Ling's sleeve.
Ling noticed instantly.
"There," she whispered, pressing her lips briefly to Rhea's temple. "That's enough. Just keep doing that."
The phone stayed useless.
The freezer stayed locked.
The cold kept biting.
But Ling didn't stop talking—not for a second—
because as long as Rhea answered, even weakly, even with insults,
she was still here.
And Ling would hold her, talk to her, breathe warmth into her,
until someone opened that door
or until her own voice gave out.
She wasn't letting silence win.
Shyra checked her phone again, irritation sharpening with every unanswered call.
"Pick up," she muttered, weaving through the last clusters of guests still lingering in the banquet hall. "Rhea, don't start this."
No signal. Straight to nothing.
She frowned, slowing her steps.
Rhea never did this. Not without warning. Not without at least one sarcastic text.
Shyra scanned the room—empty tables, half-cleared glasses, staff moving around lazily. The event was basically over. Ling Kwong's name still hung in the air like a bad aftertaste; people whispered it even after she'd left.
Shyra's jaw tightened.
"Great," she murmured. "You saw her."
She tried calling again. Still nothing.
Unease crept in, cold and crawling. Shyra wasn't dramatic, but she trusted patterns—and this one was wrong. Rhea would've stormed out, complained, demanded to leave immediately.
Not vanished.
Shyra turned sharply toward a passing staff member. "Excuse me. Did you see a woman—about my height, dark hair, red dress—leave recently?"
The man hesitated. "Uh… I saw someone matching that go toward the service corridor. Looked upset."
Shyra's stomach dropped.
"Service corridor?" she repeated.
"Yes, near the old storage wing."
Shyra didn't thank him. She was already moving.
Her heels clicked sharply as she pushed through the side doors, the noise echoing down the quieter hallway. The farther she went, the colder it felt—not just temperature, but atmosphere. Lights were dimmer here. Older. Forgotten.
"Rhea?" she called out, voice bouncing uselessly off concrete.
No answer.
She checked her phone again. Still dead signal.
"That's not funny," Shyra muttered, picking up speed now. "Rhea, answer me."
She passed locked doors, unused rooms, storage signs faded with age. Then she stopped.
A sound.
Dull. Repetitive.
Like someone hitting metal.
Shyra's heart slammed into her ribs.
She followed it, breaking into a run, rounding the corner—
And saw it.
The freezer door.
Frost clung around the edges. The heavy industrial kind, rarely used anymore.
Shyra's breath left her in a sharp gasp.
"What the hell—"
She rushed forward, pounding on the door. "Hello? Is someone in there?"
Another sound came from inside.
A hoarse voice.
"Open it."
Shyra froze.
That voice—
Ling Kwong.
Her blood went cold.
"Open the damn door," Ling shouted again, raw, furious, breaking apart at the edges.
Shyra snapped out of it instantly, grabbing the handle, yanking hard. Locked.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "Oh my god—Rhea?"
From inside, weaker now, barely audible: "Shy…ra…"
That was it.
Shyra slammed her palm against the door. "Rhea! I'm here. I'm getting you out. Stay with me."
She spun around, scanning frantically. "Security! Maintenance! Anyone!"
She ran down the corridor, shouting, not caring anymore who heard. "Someone's locked inside a freezer! Emergency!"
People came running—security first, then staff. A guard rushed up with keys, hands shaking as he tried the wrong one, then another.
Inside, Ling was talking nonstop, voice muffled but relentless—angry, pleading, commanding, breaking.
"Stay awake. Look at me. Don't you dare sleep. You hear me? Answer."
Shyra pressed her forehead briefly to the door, heart pounding. "She's still talking to her," she said urgently. "Hurry."
The lock finally clicked.
The door swung open—
Cold air blasted out violently.
Shyra staggered back as Ling came into view, sitting on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around Rhea's limp body. Ling's face was streaked with tears, eyes red, hands visibly shaking. Blood marked her knuckles. Her coat was wrapped around Rhea, her body curved around her like a shield.
Ling looked up instantly, eyes wild.
"Get her warm," she snapped hoarsely. "Now. She's hypothermic. Don't stand there."
Shyra rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside them. The sight punched the air out of her lungs.
Rhea was pale. Too pale.
"Oh my god," Shyra whispered, hands hovering before she carefully touched Rhea's cheek. Cold. Terrifyingly cold. "Rhea—hey, I'm here."
Rhea's eyes fluttered weakly. "…Took… you long enough…"
Shyra choked on a laugh-sob. "You absolute menace."
Ling didn't let go even as staff moved in with blankets, radios crackling with emergency calls. Her grip stayed firm, possessive, like if she loosened it even a fraction, Rhea would disappear.
"She stayed awake," Ling said hoarsely, almost to herself.
Shyra looked at Ling then—really looked—and whatever resentment she'd been carrying froze in her chest.
Ling wasn't composed. She wasn't cold. She was shattered and holding herself together purely through obsession and will.
"Okay," Shyra said firmly, grounding the moment. "You did good. We've got her now."
All that mattered was that Rhea was breathing.
And Ling had refused to let her stop.