Chapter 33

We stepped into the small staff dining area—clean, bright, tucked behind the clinic's main floor like a secret most patients never even knew existed. Orm walked in like she always did, calm, focused, a little tired around the eyes. But beside her, I might as well have been a spotlight.

Heads turned.

They always did.

But this time, it wasn't just because of me.

It was because of us.

The clinic nurses, two interns at the counter, even one of the older surgeons mid-coffee—they all looked. Some tried to be subtle, but it didn't matter. I felt it. That hum in the air. The curiosity. The quiet surprise.

Me—Lingling Kwong, draped in a silk-black jacket, healed just enough to walk without a limp, a fresh scar glowing under the collarbone. And Orm, with her clipboard still tucked under one arm and that slightly flushed neck she couldn't quite hide, walking just a breath ahead of me like she hadn't been sleeping curled against my side hours ago.

Like she hadn't pressed her mouth to mine that morning just to wake me up.

I caught the eye of one of her nurses, who glanced between us a little too long before looking away and whispering to the girl next to her.

I didn't blame them.

Orm wasn't usually touched. Not like that. Not like how I touched her—possessive without shame, reverent without words.

I reached out and ran my fingers down her back as we walked, right between her shoulder blades, slow. And I felt it: the shiver she tried to hide, the pause in her breath.

She shot me a warning look.

"What?" I said innocently. "I'm following your orders. Staying close. Not smoking. Eating vegetables."

"You're performing," she muttered under her breath. "This isn't one of your clubs, Ling."

I smirked. "Doesn't feel that different, to be honest. I think your interns are debating whether to salute me or ask for a photo."

Orm groaned, dragging me toward the end of the room where a tray of food was already laid out—simple, homemade, hot. It smelled better than I wanted to admit.

I dropped into the chair like I owned the place, which...let's be honest, I might as well have. My men were on every floor. My influence seeped into every wall. But still—this was her space.

And I never forgot that.

Orm handed me a bowl and chopsticks, her gaze flat but warm. "Eat."

"Yes, Doctor." I dragged out the word, lips twitching.

More eyes. More whispers. I didn't care. Let them see.

Let them see me crave her in every look.Let them see her choose me.

Because even though I came from shadows and war and blood—this moment, in this quiet clinic, with her handing me bok choy and scolding me for being stubborn—this was the kind of power no empire could match.

And I'd kill to keep it.

We sat in the quiet corner of the staff dining room, a soft hum of distant clinic noise just outside the walls. I was half-distracted, chewing dutifully on a piece of bok choy while watching Orm move around with clinical grace—cleaning up, checking something on her phone, not quite looking at me.

She was pretending not to think too hard, but I knew her too well now.

Finally, she set her phone down and sat across from me, folding her arms over the table. "So," she said casually, voice low. "What's next?"

I lifted a brow, playing dumb. "What do you mean?"

Orm gave me a pointed look—the one she used when she knew I was dodging. "Éclipse," she said. "Your operations. Your name. It's been quiet since the shooting, but I know that's not going to last. So what's your plan? You going back to the top floor and pretending nothing happened? Or..."

She paused, like the weight of the question had to be measured before she dropped it.

"Or are you going to keep chasing Sen Yui?"

I let the silence sit for a moment. Let the full taste of the question settle on my tongue. Because it wasn't just strategy she was asking about. It was us. The balance. The weight of revenge, and how much of me it might take.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table between us. "Éclipse runs without me. Not as well, but it does. Jiang's got it wrapped up for now, and the word's already out that I'm alive. That's enough to keep most of the rats in line."

She nodded slowly. "And?"

"And Sen Yui..." My fingers tapped lightly on the table, a slow rhythm. "He doesn't get to disappear after what he did. He doesn't get to walk free knowing what he tried to take from me."

From us.

Orm's gaze didn't drop. "So you're choosing him."

"No," I said, sharper than I meant to. I pulled in a breath and reached for her hand. "I'm choosing you. That's why I can't let him go."

Her throat tightened, eyes flicking down to our hands. "I just..." she started, then stopped. "I don't want this to consume you."

"It won't," I promised. "But I can't let him roam free and wait for him to strike again. Not when he's shown he'll come straight for the one thing that matters most."

Her amber eyes searched mine—quiet, vulnerable in a way that made my heart twist. "You're not alone in this, you know. You don't have to shoulder it like you always have."

"I know." I reached up, brushing her cheek gently. "But I'm not letting you bleed for this. Not more than you already have."

She leaned into my palm just slightly. "Then don't bleed alone either."

The room fell still again. And there it was—her heart laid bare, in the middle of a lunch break, between bok choy and antiseptic.

I leaned in, kissed her forehead, soft and lingering. "I'll handle Éclipse. I'll handle him. But I'm not vanishing into the smoke, baobei. I'll be coming back to you. Every time."

She closed her eyes like she was memorizing the words.

Then, without opening them, she said, "Just... come back whole."

I smiled faintly, heart aching and steady all at once. "For you? Always."

Orm didn't speak for a long time after that. She just sat there with her fingers wrapped gently around mine, her other hand resting flat on the table like she needed to anchor herself to something. Her eyes were open, but distant—somewhere between her clinic and the war she hadn't asked to be dragged into. A war with her father's name carved deep into it.

I watched her. Every breath. Every blink.

Every moment of quiet she gave me.

And I realized—this wasn't just about vengeance anymore. It wasn't even about protecting her.

It was about proving something. To myself. To the ghosts that followed me.

That I could be in love and still be ruthless. That I could care and still win.

That loving her didn't make me weak.

It made me terrifying.

"Come with me," I said, suddenly.

Orm blinked. "What?"

I leaned forward. "To Éclipse. Just for a night. I'll keep it locked down, full security. You stay in the back office, you don't even have to see anyone if you don't want. But I want you to see what I've built. Not just the blood and smoke. All of it."

She gave me a long look. "That place is dangerous."

"So am I," I murmured. "But I'd never let it touch you."

She sighed, brushing her thumb over the back of my hand again. "You want me there because you miss it. Not the club—me."

"Guilty," I said with a smirk.

She shook her head with a small laugh. "God, you're ridiculous."

"You're the one who fell in love with me."

"Don't remind me," she muttered, but her smile lingered.

Then she went quiet again, like she was weighing something. Her face tilted slightly, and her expression softened in a way I only ever saw when she let her walls fall for me—unguarded, but never weak.

"I'll come," she said finally. "But just one night. Then you come back here and sleep. No disappearing for three days and coming back with bruised ribs."

I saluted her with two fingers. "Deal."

"And don't do that mafia glare you do when someone looks at me. You know the one."

I grinned. "No promises."

She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her voice was there now, settled deep.

There was a knock on the staff room door— one of my men, probably. Right on time.

Orm stood up, brushing her coat into place. I stayed seated, watching the way she moved, sharp and beautiful and entirely mine. She glanced over her shoulder, caught me staring.

"What?"

"You," I said, slow and full of hunger. "In that coat. Giving orders. It's a problem."

She smirked. "Control yourself, Boss Kwong."

I stood and crossed the room in two steps. "Not when it comes to you, baobei."

She rolled her eyes again, but she didn't stop me from pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth—quick, soft, just enough to leave the taste of us lingering.

Then she turned toward the door, her voice steady again. "Let's go, troublemaker. If we're going to take on your empire and my father, we should probably start with lunch."

I followed her out, heartbeat steady beneath the scar.

The door shut behind us with a soft hiss, and for the first time in days, the air didn't smell like antiseptic and sterilized cotton. It smelled like the city—dense, warm, full of smoke and noise even in the quiet hour. Orm had her coat folded over one arm, stethoscope tucked in her bag, hair a little messy in the way that drove me insane.

Half-day, just like she promised. I held her to it.

My men were already stationed in every corner of the street—leaning on the curb, seated in tinted sedans, some just shadows posted near the alleyways with quiet eyes and steady hands. They didn't make a sound when we stepped out. Just nodded, subtle and respectful.

This street was hers, but it ran on my protection now. Anyone who didn't get that had already learned the hard way.

The matte-black G-Wagon was parked at the curb, engine purring low like it was holding its breath. I saw the familiar figure of one of my men stepping back from the driver's side door, giving me the nod that everything was clear.

I motioned him off, already reaching for the passenger side.

Orm had just pulled her hair back, squinting at the sunlight, when I opened the door for her.

She blinked. "You're driving?"

I grinned. "I've been cleared to move, haven't I?"

Her eyes dropped to my side, where the scar still rested beneath layers of silk and muscle. "Barely. You should still be resting."

"You're the one skipping out of work early."

She rolled her eyes and slid into the passenger seat, muttering, "Half-day isn't skipping."

I shut the door behind her with a gentle click and walked around the front of the car, my boots echoing on the pavement. I could feel the weight of every pair of eyes nearby—my men watching us, probably smiling to themselves without showing it. I wasn't subtle. Not when it came to her.

When I dropped into the driver's seat and started the engine, Orm had already buckled in and was adjusting the vents like she'd done it a hundred times before. Like this was normal now—me behind the wheel, her beside me, the world outside quieter than it used to be when I wasn't trying to keep her safe every second.

"You sure you're okay with this?" she asked, not looking at me. "Éclipse's been quiet for days. That usually means something's going wrong."

"It's fine," I said. "Jiang's already there, and we've doubled the entrance security. You're safer in that place than the mayor's office."

Orm glanced at me then, her brows lifting. "You're comparing your nightclub to a government building now?"

"Baobei," I murmured, pulling out into the road, "my nightclub is safer than a government building. It's just prettier."

She didn't respond right away, but I caught the edge of a smile tugging at her lips as she looked out the window. "You're ridiculous."

"I've been told."

A pause. Then softer, barely above the sound of the engine:

"Thank you for letting me in. Into your world."

I glanced over, one hand on the wheel, the other resting close to the gearshift."You didn't ask for a key," I said. "You became it."

And I meant every word.

She didn't reply, just reached over and rested her hand over mine—firm, warm, certain.

The sun was sliding toward late afternoon, that golden hour spilling through the windshield and painting Orm's skin in light I wanted to steal for myself. She looked out the window with her head resting against her hand, long fingers curled slightly beneath her chin, lips parted just enough for my mind to wander where it shouldn't while I was behind the wheel.

The city passed us by in shades of motion and haze. But none of it mattered. Just her hand on mine. Her presence in my passenger seat.

She belonged in this car. In my life.

With me.

The closer we got to Éclipse, the more the air shifted. My domain was waking up—the sidewalks thicker, the people sharper, neon signs beginning to flicker to life even in the daylight. The building itself rose like a monument at the end of the street, all dark glass and defiant angles. Familiar. Powerful.

Home.

And for the first time, it wasn't just mine. It was ours. Because she was here.

I pulled into the underground garage, the gates rolling open after scanning my plates. My men stood at attention as we rolled past—some bowing their heads slightly as I passed. I didn't miss the way a few of them did double takes when they saw Orm in the passenger seat, even with her sunglasses on. I'd have to deal with Jiang teasing me later.

I parked in my reserved space, right by the elevator.

"You sure about this?" I asked, turning toward her.

Orm looked at me, expression unreadable for a breath. Then she leaned in slightly and said, "I'm with you. Where you go, I go."

God, she didn't know what those words did to me.

I opened my door quickly, circled around, and opened hers like a gentlewoman. Like she was royalty. Because she was, in every way that mattered.

Orm stepped out, the heels of her boots clicking against the polished garage floor. She tugged her coat tighter around her, not out of cold—but instinct. She knew where we were. She knew how much power whispered through these walls.

As we walked toward the elevator, I nodded to my guards. One of them pressed the button for us, then stepped back, eyes averted respectfully. When the doors slid shut and we were alone, I caught Orm watching the mirrored panel.

She looked different here. Not out of place—but elevated. Like this part of my world knew who she was now and was adjusting around her.

Orm's boots moved softly against the marble as we stepped into the main hallway of the top floor. She took in everything quietly—like she was cataloguing it piece by piece, the way only someone trained to observe first and feel second could.

It wasn't her first time here, but it was the first time she was really here.

The last time, she came in through the back—clinic bag in one hand, her brow furrowed in focus, all doctor and no softness. She hadn't even looked at the place. Her eyes were on my wound, not my empire. I remembered the way she looked at me, shoved a compress against my side, told Jiang to shut up and get out of the damn room.

She saved me in this building and barely even saw it.

Now she was seeing it all.

"You redecorate since I stitched you up here?" she asked lightly, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat as we passed a set of custom-lit canvases, low gold lamps throwing shadows like flickers of flame against the walls.

"No," I said. "You're just looking this time."

She didn't deny it. Just tilted her head slightly and let her gaze trail up the curve of the vaulted ceiling, to the deep blacks and crimsons and that signature Éclipse glow—the one people paid ridiculous sums to see from behind a velvet rope.

Orm turned to glance over her shoulder at me. "You run an empire and still you had no painkillers in this place when you were bleeding out. Pathetic."

I grinned. "I was too busy making sure no one ever got close enough to make me bleed."

She looked at me for a moment. "Until I did."

That shut me up.

I watched her turn back to the hallway and walk toward the wide, smoked-glass double doors that led to my private lounge. Her pace was unhurried now. Confident, even. She looked like she belonged.

Because she did.

I keyed us in, the doors sliding open on command. The scent of oud and warmth spilled into the hallway, the lounge still the way I left it—low sofas, thick carpets, dark mahogany shelves stacked with rare bottles. No noise but the city beyond the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows.

Orm stepped in first, eyes drifting up to the view. "You really don't do anything halfway."

"No," I murmured, following her in. "Not with you."

She glanced sideways, lips twitching like she was fighting a smile. "You say things like that too easily."

"It's not easy," I said. "You just make it worth the risk."

She turned toward me, finally still. The city lights wrapped around her like some expensive halo, but she was the most brilliant thing in the room. Her hair, her tired eyes, the way she wore that white shirt like she didn't even know she could bring people to their knees with a look.

"Is this where you bring people you trust?" she asked.

"No." I stepped closer. "This is where I bring people I'd die for."

Her breath caught—just a little.

I didn't reach for her. I waited.

And after a long, quiet moment, Orm closed the distance. Her hands slid up my chest and rested against my collarbone, like she was anchoring herself. Like she was giving herself permission.

"I'm still mad about the cigarette," she murmured.

I leaned in, brushing my lips just against her nose. "Then punish me, Doctor."

She huffed a breath that might've been a laugh—but her arms slid around me, and she pressed her forehead to mine.

And there, in the middle of my kingdom—surrounded by glass and shadow and everything I'd fought to control—Orm Kornnaphat undid me with nothing but her presence.

Again.

Always.

Her fingers brushed lightly at the nape of my neck, soft and cool against the heat of my skin. She smelled like clean linen and the faint trace of that herbal soap she kept in the clinic—comfort and danger, wrapped up in one body.

Orm leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing my nose, her breath warm. Her voice came out low, barely a whisper meant for me alone.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, her thumb ghosting over the side of my neck. "How's your wound?"

My mouth twitched into a slow, involuntary smile at her question—half because of her concern, half because it felt so her. Even here, in the heart of my chaos, Orm was still thinking like a doctor first.

Still thinking about me.

I shifted slightly, careful not to put too much strain on my side, though truthfully, I barely felt the sting anymore. The bullet wound was healing well. Because she made sure of it.

"Feels a lot better," I murmured against her hair. "Especially with you like this."

Orm pulled back just enough to fix me with a pointed look—half suspicious, half amused. "That's not a medical answer, Lingling."

I laughed under my breath, and reached up to hold her wrist lightly, feeling the steady pulse beneath her skin. Alive. Here. "You fixed me, baobei. Better than any medicine could."

Her face softened at that, even though she tried to hide it behind a mock sternness. "You're still reckless."

"I'm still breathing."

"Because of me," she said, raising one brow. But her hands didn't leave me. Instead, her fingers slid up, curling at the edges of my jaw, holding me like I was something precious. Fragile, even, though we both knew better.

"Because you chose me," I said quietly.

Orm searched my face for something—I didn't know what. Doubt? Fear? But whatever it was, she didn't find it. I wasn't going anywhere. Not from her. Not ever.

I leaned forward, nudging my forehead lightly against hers again. "Let me take you upstairs," I whispered. "Just you and me. No guards. No blood. No war. Just...us."

Her breath caught for a heartbeat.

And then she nodded, her fingers tightening just a little at the back of my neck like she was holding on—to me, to this moment, to the promise wrapped inside it.

I took her hand and led her toward the hidden staircase that wound up to the private loft above the lounge. Only a handful of people even knew it existed.

She was one of them now.

We were halfway across the lounge, Orm's fingers still loosely tangled in mine, when a familiar figure cut into view from one of the side corridors.

Jiang.

Of course. Always sharp, always two steps ahead.

He didn't miss a beat when he saw us—me leading Orm, her white coat folded neatly over one arm, my hand wrapped protectively around hers like she was the most important thing in the entire goddamn building.

Jiang approached quickly but respectfully, his pace clipped and precise, stopping a few feet in front of us. He dipped his head to me first, fist brushing over his heart in that old signal of loyalty we'd always used.

"Boss," he greeted, voice low and formal. Then he shifted his gaze to Orm, inclining his head again, though with a touch more softness. "Doctor Kornnaphat."

Orm gave a small nod in return, a polite smile tugging at her lips—but I could feel the way her body tensed slightly beside me. She knew Jiang wasn't here just to chat.

"Report," I said, my voice dropping into the tone that made people move faster.

Jiang straightened. "We've secured Éclipse fully. Increased the foot patrols outside and the surrounding streets. Anyone trying to tail you or Doctor Kornnaphat would have to walk through hell first." He flicked his gaze toward Orm again with subtle respect. "No attempts so far."

"Good," I said.

"But," Jiang continued, and the faint tightening of his jaw told me what was coming wasn't good news, "there's more movement around the hotel in Hong Kong. The one Sen Yui used last month. Our men intercepted chatter about a shipment being moved to the mainland...and rumors he's setting up a second base outside Kowloon."

At the mention of Sen Yui's name, I felt Orm's hand twitch slightly against mine.

She said nothing, just stood there, spine straight, face neutral—but I knew her well enough now to feel the storm gathering beneath her calm.

I squeezed her fingers gently.

"And?" I pressed Jiang.

Jiang's eyes flicked to Orm again, hesitating. But he knew better than to filter things in front of her. She was part of this now. Whether she wanted to be or not.

"We believe he's planning something soon. Not just movement. He's looking for a bargaining chip. Something...personal."

A chill slid down my spine, sharp and unwelcome.

"Meaning?" Orm asked, her voice low but steady.

Jiang hesitated, then said carefully, "Meaning he might try to take someone connected to you. Again."

I could feel Orm's breath hitch beside me, but she didn't flinch. Her hand tightened in mine instead, holding me steady even when it should have been the other way around.

"Let him try," I said coldly, my free hand curling into a fist at my side. "He won't survive it a second time."

Jiang gave a grim nod. "We're ready, Boss. Just say the word."

I looked at Orm then, feeling the weight of this between us—the blood, the war, the tangled mess that her father had left in our lives.

But she just looked at me, unwavering. Strong.

With me.

"Anything else?" I asked without looking away from her.

"Nothing that can't wait," Jiang said quietly. "I'll be nearby if you need me."

He gave one last respectful nod and disappeared back down the hall as silently as he'd come.

The second he was gone, I turned to face her fully, raising her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"I'll kill him before he ever gets close again," I said, voice raw. "I swear it, baobei."

Orm stepped in closer, so close I could feel every line of her body through the thin air between us. Her free hand came up, resting lightly over my heart.

"You're not alone in this," she said quietly. "We do it together."

The city kept breathing outside the glass.

And inside this fortress I built to protect everything I loved, I realized for the first time—

Maybe it wasn't just me protecting her.

Maybe she was saving me too.

The hidden staircase led us to a sleek, seamless door tucked behind a nondescript panel at the end of the hall. I keyed in the passcode—six digits no one alive knew except me, not even Jiang—and the lock hissed open, revealing my sanctuary.

The loft wasn't flashy like the rest of Éclipse. It was quieter, darker. Heavy velvet curtains, low couches, dark wood, and soft scattered lighting. It felt like a heart still beating somewhere deep beneath the city's skin.

I let Orm step in first, closing the door securely behind us. Double-locking it. Soundproof. Reinforced. Safe.

She turned slowly, taking in the space. Her fingers brushed against the back of a deep leather armchair as she walked, quiet in her sneakers, her white coat hanging off her like she owned the place without even trying. The lights from the windows haloed her hair, setting the edges aglow.

She looked like she belonged here too.

I slid my jacket off with a smooth shrug of my shoulders, tossing it onto the back of the couch. My holster clinked faintly as it hit the leather. My shirt pulled tight across my back and shoulders as I moved—broad but worn thin, a silent map of old battles and survival.

I felt Orm's eyes on me, lingering longer than before.

"You used to live here?" she asked softly, her voice breaking the hush of the room.

I nodded, running a hand through my hair. "Not live," I said. "Stay. Hide."

Orm's brow furrowed slightly.

I crossed the room toward the wide glass windows, looking out at the infinite spill of neon below, hands tucked loosely into my pockets. The city stretched endlessly, a beast of light and noise and teeth—and I had conquered it once, bloody and ruthless.

But even queens needed somewhere to fall apart.

"I used to come up here whenever I felt like drowning," I said, voice low. "Sadness. Rage. Guilt. Didn't matter. Up here, it was just...quiet." I turned slightly to glance at her, catching the way she was watching me—seeing all the cracks I didn't bother hiding around her anymore. "Safer to bleed in the dark where no one could see."

Orm moved closer, slow and sure, until she stood right in front of me.

She tilted her chin down slightly—because, in that slight, almost unnoticeable way, she was taller than me. Only by a little. But when she stood this close, when she looked at me like that, it felt bigger than inches.

Stronger.

Her hands rose, brushing lightly over my arms, sliding up my biceps, the slow drag of her touch grounding me back into my body.

"I see you, Lingling," she said, voice a whisper. "Even in the dark."

I swallowed hard, my heart stumbling against my ribs. I didn't need saving. But somehow, she made me want to be saved anyway.

I reached for her waist, pulling her closer until we were chest to chest, feeling the steady drum of her heartbeat against mine. She slid her arms up around my neck, threading her fingers lightly through the hair at the back of my head.

We just stood there for a long moment—breathing the same air, wrapped in the low hum of citylight and pulse-deep promises.

The weight of her in my arms, the warmth of her breath against my skin — it was almost too much. It cracked something in me wide open, something I'd kept buried beneath years of ice and iron.

I closed my eyes, forehead still pressed against hers, and the words slipped out of me before I could stop them, raw and trembling at the edges:

"Your name is a wound I trace with shaking hands," I whispered, my voice breaking slightly. "Bleeding willingly every time."

Orm froze for a heartbeat — I felt it in the stillness of her breath, in the way her fingers tightened slightly at the nape of my neck.

I didn't pull away. I couldn't. I had never spoken like this to anyone before — not in any battlefield, not in any soft dark room, not even when death had been close enough to kiss.

Only to her. Only ever to her.

Slowly, Orm leaned back just enough to see my face, her hands still cradling my head like she was afraid I might shatter if she let go.

"Lingling," she whispered, my name on her lips like a vow.

She kissed me then — not urgent, not desperate — but slow, reverent, as if she could stitch every broken piece back together with her mouth alone.

I sank into her, letting myself fall for once, letting myself feel instead of fight. Her lips moved against mine with a kind of sweetness that stole the air from my lungs. A kind of belonging that scared me more than any bullet ever had.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead resting against mine again, her breath was shaking too.

"You don't have to bleed for me," she said, so quietly it was almost lost to the hum of the world outside. "You just have to live. Stay. Let me... be here."

I closed my eyes tight against the sting there.

Because it wasn't just her hands tracing my wounds now.

It was her soul, stitching something in me whole.

Without thinking, I picked her up easily by her waist — careful of the faint pull in my side — and set her gently down on the thick couch near the window, following her down, not letting an inch of space between us.

Orm laughed breathlessly, one hand slipping beneath my shirt at my back, her palm warm against the lines of old scars and new.

I kissed the side of her mouth, then her cheek, then the soft line of her jaw, slow and savoring.

"You're not just healing me, baobei," I murmured against her skin. "You're rewriting me."

Outside, the city roared and burned.

But here, in this room, in her arms — there was only peace.

Only her.

Only my healer.

Orm curled her arms tighter around me as I hovered over her, the two of us tangled in the dim warmth of the loft. Her fingers traced slow patterns across my back — over old scars, places no one else had dared touch like this. Not like I was fragile, but like I was sacred.

I leaned my weight on one arm beside her head, careful not to crush her, even though every part of me ached to be closer. She looked up at me, amber eyes dark and shining, and there was something fierce in her expression — something that said she wasn't afraid of the broken pieces she found in me. She wanted all of it.

I kissed her again, slower this time, letting myself drown in her — the way she tasted, the way she sighed into my mouth, the way she held me like she was memorizing the shape of my soul.

Eventually, reluctantly, I pulled back just far enough to look at her properly, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair away from her forehead.

"I should get you something to eat," I murmured, smiling against the curve of her temple. "You've been taking care of everyone but yourself lately."

Orm chuckled softly, the sound like a balm to every wound I carried. "You're one to talk, Lingling Kwong," she teased, poking a finger lightly into my side — the uninjured one. I caught her hand and kissed her knuckles in apology.

She sighed and tilted her head back, looking at the ceiling for a long moment before glancing back at me.

"Five more minutes," she whispered. "Just... five more minutes like this."

And how could I ever say no to that?

I settled beside her, pulling her against my chest. She fit so perfectly there, like she was made for it — like the hollow in my ribs had been waiting for her all along.

We lay there in the quiet, feeling the world shift below us but refusing to move.

I could feel it building, though — the storm outside these walls. Jiang's warning about Sen Yui. The territory lines tightening around Éclipse. The fact that the safety we had here was only temporary, fragile as spun glass.

I needed to move soon. Strike first.

But right now, with Orm's heartbeat fluttering steadily against mine, I let myself forget all of that.

She pressed her lips softly to my collarbone, and I could feel the smile there when she whispered against my skin, "You're stuck with me now, Kwong."

I closed my eyes, tightening my arms around her.

Good, I thought.

Because I was never going to let her go anyway.

When we finally did move, it was slow, reluctant. I helped her up first, watching her adjust her wrinkled white coat, that serious little doctor frown already forming as she fussed with her sleeves. I couldn't stop the low laugh that rumbled in my chest.

Orm narrowed her eyes at me playfully. "What?"

"You," I said simply, brushing a hand through her hair to fix the messy strands. "You're dangerous, baobei."

She smirked and grabbed my wrist, tugging me toward the kitchen area tucked behind the loft wall.

"Come on," she said. "If you want me to survive you dragging me into mafia wars, you're at least going to feed me first."

I followed her, smiling, knowing that soon enough, the blood and fire would come back for us both.

But right now?

Right now, I was hers.

And she was mine.

And we were still breathing.

The kitchen lights were warmer than the rest of the loft — soft and golden, humming gently above us like we were tucked inside some separate, safer world. I rolled up the sleeves of my black shirt, moving by muscle memory, pulling open cabinets and drawers, grabbing a pan, oil, rice, and vegetables without needing to think.

Orm hopped up onto the counter nearby, bare legs swinging slightly, her white coat still hanging off her shoulders like she didn't care how rumpled it was. She watched me with her chin resting in her palm, a lazy, contented smile tugging at her mouth.

"You're staring," I said without looking up, tossing chopped garlic into the heating pan. It sizzled on contact, the rich smell filling the room.

"Can you blame me?" she said, voice low and teasing. "I get to watch The Lingling Kwong cook for me. It's like... a privilege. Should I frame this memory?"

I gave her a side glance, trying — failing — to fight the smile pulling at my own lips. "You're impossible."

"And you're adorable," she said easily, her voice warm and syrup-smooth. She tilted her head slightly, still watching every move I made, like the way I held a knife or stirred the pan was somehow fascinating.

I shook my head and focused on the food — tossing in vegetables, beating a couple eggs into a small bowl one-handed, sliding rice in after it. The loft filled with the comforting smell of home — not just food, but the act of making something with my own hands. For her.

"You know," I said after a moment, glancing back at her over my shoulder, "I used to cook just to survive. Cheap meals, fast ones. Fuel."

Orm swung her legs a little more, smiling. "And now?"

I slid the spatula through the rice again, letting the steam rise, fragrant and full.

"Now," I said, soft enough that she had to lean closer to hear, "I cook to keep you close a little longer."

Orm's cheeks flushed the faintest pink — and if I hadn't been looking straight at her, I would've missed it. She ducked her head slightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, but the grin she was hiding was unmistakable.

I plated the food neatly and set it down on the counter next to her, nudging it toward her with the edge of the spatula. "Eat," I said, mock-stern. "Doctor's orders, right?"

She laughed under her breath, picking up the fork I handed her.

Before she took a bite, though, she reached out — grabbing the front of my shirt and tugging me closer until I was standing between her legs, her knees brushing my hips.

Orm looked up at me with that soft, devastating smile — the one that burned straight through all my defenses — and said, "I love you when you're holding a gun. I love you when you're holding a knife. But I think... I love you the most when you're holding my heart and pretending it doesn't terrify you."

I swallowed hard, my hands resting lightly on her thighs now, grounding myself in the solid warmth of her.

"It terrifies me," I admitted quietly. "Every second."

Orm leaned in, brushing her mouth against mine — not a kiss, just a promise, feather-light and steady.

"But you're still here," she whispered against my lips.

"And I'm not leaving," I breathed back.

Not now.Not ever.

We stayed like that for a long moment — two stubborn, broken creatures clinging to the fragile, beautiful thing we'd built between us — before finally, reluctantly, she pulled back to eat.

And I stood there, arms crossed, watching her.

My baobei.

My doctor.

My salvation.