Chapter Text
Shi Wudu is loath to admit it when something he was initially against turns out to be a good idea, but there are some benefits to going no contact with his eldest uncle.
The stress relief being the first and most obvious—no one has appeared to randomly cause extreme irritation in the past few days—and second…
Having commercial office space that is exclusively for his people, not the company's, has turned out to be somewhat ideal.
He wanted something closer to the new house anyway, and within a fifteen minute drive of any school he'll be willing to enroll the children in.
(It never hurts to think ahead. Far ahead.)
And as he leans back behind his new desk, he can appreciate all of the benefits of no longer having an office with a glass wall.
A soft groan escapes him as He Xuan’s thumbs dig in, a slow, satisfied shiver running down his spine. When those thumbs start to rub in circles, he moans louder, and his mate speaks next to his ear.
“Keep that up, and people are going to think we’re up to something.”
Shi Wudu wishes. Well, almost wishes, but he’s not quite as adjusted to sex in clandestine locations as He Xuan is.
In any case, the feel of the alpha rubbing his shoulders for the last ten minutes has been heavenly.
“You know,” Shi Wudu mumbles, ignoring his earlier statement. “I never expected you to be like this.”
“Like what?”
“The doting, ever-affectionate mate.”
He Xuan considers that, one hand sliding from Shi Wudu’s throat to cup the side of his neck.
“I don’t know, maybe I’ll get all cold and unfeeling once you’re not pregnant.”
Some alphas are like that, but He Xuan was treating him this way before he knew about the pregnancy. Before they were even officially together.
Granted, Shi Wudu had thought that he was just going over the top with the whole method acting thing, but the longer he thinks about it, the more that line of thinking seems like a very committed form of denial in retrospect.
His shoulders feel more unwound than they have in weeks. His lower back would feel even better, if.
His phone rattles on the table, and when Shi Wudu glances at the screen, he's greeted with one text from his uncle lighting up his screen.
‘It's done.’
"..." Shi Wudu drags the phone towards him, tapping out a message to Hua Cheng. "Looks like sanshu pulled it off."
He Xuan's fingers pause against his skin. "...I guess he's good for something, then."
"Every now and then. Do you think Hua Cheng can do the same?"
"...Pull it off, you mean?"
Shi Wudu nods shallowly, and He Xuan sighs.
"He has an annoying habit of always doing that."
Shi Wudu can imagine that kind of life leaves little room for error. If you don't succeed, you end up in prison. And when he considers that, it makes Hua Cheng's reasons for wanting to move away from such things all the more obvious.
And it's for those same reasons that Shi Wudu was able to pull him into it to begin with.
"I wonder how strange all of this must be for him."
"Who? Hua Cheng?" He Xuan snorts, raising an eyebrow. "This is far from the worst thing he's ever been involved in."
"No, I mean—he probably listened to you complain about me for the better part of a decade, and now he's been pulled into all of this."
He Xuan wants to deny that he'd never do something so pathetic as complaining about Shi Wudu for a decade after they parted, but..
They both know he would.
“…He’s probably too smug about the thought of me owing him to really care about how strange it might be,” He Xuan finally answers, his tone laced with years of bitterness.
“It’s mutually beneficial, and I’m paying—”
“That doesn’t matter.” He Xuan heaves a sigh. “It benefits me, so he’ll hold it over my head the second he needs to.”
“How cynical.”
“I’d rather have gone to jail, honestly.”
“And then you’d have to make do with conjugal visits,” Shi Wudu points out. “If I even decided to come.”
“You’d come.” He Xuan frowns, almost petulant, and the omega’s lips twitch.
"I don't know. I hear the rooms they put you up in aren't exactly luxurious."
"That would be part of the thrill for you."
Shi Wudu tilts his head, raising an eyebrow, and he doesn't deny it.
His sex life was a lot more functional before their relationship began. Relief from his cycles, relief from stress—but he was never particularly adventurous, and his partners were generally too wary of his reaction to branch out.
So there has been quite a bit of novelty to their sex life—and he won't pretend he hasn't enjoyed it. Particularly during He Xuan's...
Shi Wudu makes a face.
Well, he won't be having one of those any time soon.
"What?"
Shi Wudu isn’t going to tell him exactly what was on his mind, but he has an easy alternative.
“I’m not going to have another cycle until next fall.”
“…” He Xuan tries not to feel to bereaved by the reminder. “Right.”
Shi Wudu is silent, and just when He Xuan is about to prompt him, he sighs. “Never mind.”
“No—what was it?”
“We already talked about it, there’s no point in—“
“Just say it.”
“…I feel a little…weird about the timing,” he admits.
“The timing?”
“Doing the bonding bite after they’re here.”
He Xuan bites back a laugh, knowing it wouldn’t be appreciated.
(Especially when Shi Wudu has already owned up to being somewhat “traditional.”)
"They won't remember," he points out softly, leaning down to rest his chin on Shi Wudu's shoulder. "And everyone else assumes that you already have one."
They do, Shi Wudu won't deny that—but there's this prickling feeling. Like an old scar that's starting to itch.
"I know."
"And the hormonal shift it could cause isn't easy during pregnancy—"
"I know."
He Xuan takes a slight pause, weighing his options in his head.
It's funny—he never thinks this much when talking to anyone else.
He's never cared this much about how his words might make anyone else feel.
"And I would have understood if you hadn't wanted one at all."
The reason for which, of course, goes unspoken.
Shi Wudu stiffens, however slightly.
"I think that experience makes me want it more, actually."
"...Really?" He Xuan asks, feeling somewhat doubtful. After all, back during the first cycle they sent together, most of what made it take so long to put Shi Wudu under was how terrified he was of being bitten.
"It would make me feel permanently walled off from him." Shi Wudu shrugs. He likes the security in that. "And once I got used to you, I was never afraid of you."
He Xuan feels bitter that he had to. Bitter that the fear was placed in him to begin with.
"If you'd done it during your rut, I wouldn't have been upset."
Silence stretches on for a long time afterward, and Shi Wudu might have been worried that the alpha wasn't happy to hear it.
If not for the intense burst of happiness he can feel pulsing through their bond, anyway.
And even if not for that, he can practically feel He Xuan's heart pounding against his back.
"...If I'd known—" He Xuan starts, his voice rasping, then he cuts himself off.
Shi Wudu doesn't doubt that He Xuan would have bitten him the moment he knew Shi Wudu actually wanted it. But maybe…
Maybe Shi Wudu wasn't sure that he did until he saw the way that He Xuan tore into his own forearm to avoid his neck.
Shi Wudu loved him for it, and in the same instance, he realized that he hadn't wanted him to avoid it at all.
"You could give me one."
Shi Wudu blinks, clearly taken off guard. "What?"
"You could bite me."
It’s still and quiet for another moment—not in a bad way.
Just shocked.
“…You couldn’t exactly wear a collar,” Shi Wudu finally says, his voice somewhat constricted, and from where He Xuan is behind him, he can’t see his expression.
“A lot of alphas who get them cover them up with a tattoo. I wouldn’t mind that.”
“What about work?”
“If I was just starting out, it might be an issue. But it’s not hard for a makeup artist to cover up.”
Shi Wudu contemplates for another moment, and He Xuan cracks a wry smile. “Is it too modern for you?”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an old auntie.”
He self-admittedly is, but He Xuan keeps his mouth shut.
After another pause, Shi Wudu says:
“I’ll think about it.”
“It sounds like there’s something else you wanted to ask,” He Xuan murmurs, turning his head to breathe in Shi Wudu’s neck. His nose brushes over his mate’s collar when he does so, earning a shiver.
“Not you.”
“Not me?”
“You’ll be an ass about it.”
“When am I ever an ass—” he starts, then has to have a moment of self-awareness, and finishes with: “—to you?”
“You have your moments.”
He Xuan really can't recall—not recently—when he's had one of his 'moments,' but Shi Wudu doesn't seem inclined to tell him.
"I don't have fangs," the omega finally says, which fully throws He Xuan off.
His mate doesn't typically make a habit of stating the obvious.
"...Right."
"What am I supposed to do? Gnaw on you?"
He Xuan can't stop the surprised laugh that escapes him, which earns a swat to his temple as Shi Wudu reaches back to shove him off. Not seriously, but enough to express his annoyance.
"Sorry, sorry—you've bitten me before, you know."
"I've never broken skin." Shi Wudu frowns.
"It's not hard."
"You've never given anyone a bonding bite before—"
"I fight dirty."
"And you have fangs."
"A regular person could bite through a human finger just as easily as a baby carrot, you know."
"That's just a rumor from the internet!"
“Why would I repeat unfounded misinformation?” He Xuan asks, and he almost manages to sound convincingly appalled. “I went to medical school, remember?”
“You make it so easy to forget.” Shi Wudu says it so dryly, if He Xuan couldn’t feel his amusement, he might be offended.
Instead, he feels compelled to lean down, one finger under Shi Wudu’s chin turning his face up for a kiss.
It’s slow, lingering—and frankly, nearly enough to make him forget everything else.
Nearly.
“…I’ll think about it,” he murmurs.
He sounds a little more serious than He Xuan would have expected—like he’s doing more than just placating him.
“Now, I do have to get some work done today.”
“Are you kicking your poor mate out?” he asks, their mouths just a breath apart, and Shi Wudu’s lips twitch.
“You’ll survive.”
Survival is a funny thing.
Everyone thinks that’s the goal, at the end of the day. Breathe, eat, sleep, don’t bleed out.
Sometimes, however, there’s a higher calling.
Or lower, depending on who you ask.
Hua Cheng has always excelled at finding those things.
Sitting on a bench now, watching the wind rustle through the leaves, he waits for his companion to do the same.
“…What…” she starts slowly, like she’s struggling to find the words, and Hua Cheng can’t blame her. The drugs they push in places like this slow the mind, make you sluggish. “What did you tell them…that made them let you see me?”
“That I was your brother.”
And if she’d been a slightly more important patient, they might have looked into it further. Instead, they saw a sharp-featured, working-class alpha—there to visit the same. They waved him through without even checking to see if the name on the visitor’s register matched the one on his ID.
And still, given this place’s nature as a maximum security facility, he’s shocked by how easy it is, getting some time alone.
He can already spy three easy ways to harm oneself. From the tall trees to the spikes on top of the gates, and the stones lining the walking paths.
But that lack of concern for patients, as abhorrent as it may be, is likely to work in his favor.
“…Why…did you…?”
“You’re never getting out of here,” he says, with no small amount of certainty.
Nor should she.
She was an old regular at his establishment—but there are people who know when to stop gambling, and people who don’t.
She was the latter.
And when desperation kicked in, she…
Her omega paid the painful, violent price.
Hua Cheng’s never had much respect for deadbeats. Particularly those who get their spouses killed.
But lifers are useful in places like this.
They don’t have anything to lose.
“But your son,” he continues. “He’s having a difficult time in the system, I hear.”
Her eyes flicker to him sluggishly, flashing with anger. If she wasn’t so hazy, she’d probably bare her fangs and snarl.
But she can’t.
And even if she did, Hua Cheng wouldn’t be the one who made her son an orphan.
“I can help with that.”
He can see her shoulders stiffen, like a little muscle tension is slowly returning to her body after so many months of laying listless.
"...What?" she rasps.
"I can help the boy," he says, watching a pair of orderlies step out of a nearby exit for a smoke break, heads bent close together.
They seem so unconcerned about what the patients wandering the yard are doing, it makes him wonder if all the cloak and dagger was even necessary.
"I just need you to do one thing for me."
Her hands slowly curl into fists where they rest against her thighs, and her eyes narrow.
"Name it."
Hua Cheng’s lips curve into a slow, easy grin.
“There’s a man being transferred here for evaluation soon,” he murmurs. “I want you to give him a quick sendoff.”
Her tongue darts out, swiping over dry, cracked lips.
“…That’s all?”
Once you’ve killed before, it’s never that much to do another.
“That’s all.”
“Does he deserve it?”
It hardly matters in her situation, but maybe she wants some peace of mind.
“…He broke his toddler’s arm.”
Now, finally, her lips pull back over her teeth—revealing a long, vicious set of fangs.
“Got it.”
Hua Cheng glances at a nearby pond, watching the ducks drift through the water.
“He enters evaluation today,” he tells her calmly, one eye unreadable, the other lost long ago. “I presume you don’t need any more instruction than that.”
When she doesn’t ask any questions, he rises to his feet, brushing non-existent wrinkles from his coat.
“I’m off, then.”
He already has one of the guards here on his dime. All she’ll need is an opening to get in, and then.
Well, it wouldn’t surprise Hua Cheng if she could do it with her bare hands.
It’ll be quick, untraceable, and neat.
Then, he’ll just have to wait for news.
It’s something he can feel entirely at ease with—but when he checks back out of the facility, climbing into an idling car on the sidewalk, he can feel lingering apprehension from the driver’s seat.
It’s something he could ignore, certainly—and he intends to.
It’s something that the driver would normally swallow down, saying nothing as the alpha returned to business.
“You’ll help the kid either way, right?”
Yin Yu’s voice is wary, hesitant to even ask, and Hua Cheng doesn’t look up.
He leans back against the seat, legs crossed as he scrolls through his emails. “Should I be offended by that question?”
Yin Yu falls silent, and he doesn’t dare to ask again.
"It's got to be kind of annoying, right? Moving during break."
He Zhong blinks, pulling her hand back from the shelf.
It's the last day before said winter break—and while most of the third years have gotten the afternoon off for interview workshops, and the second years are trapped in exam prep, the first years have been left to trickle about an unusually empty campus.
"...It's probably easier than moving during the semester," she offers with a smile, running her fingertip along the spines of the books in front of her.
They're supposed to pick a period text to review and analyze as a vacation assignment—not her strength, but her Shi-ge promised to help her.
It's just, she didn't realize in schools this nice, the classic editions they have are actually old. He Zhong is terrified to pick a single one of them up.
"Yeah—I just can't believe they're actually moving out of that house..." her classmate mutters, and when He Zhong looks back at her with a raised eyebrow, she raises her head apologetically. "Sorry—it's just—the Shi family's always had someone living there. It's kind of hard to imagine it sitting empty."
Qin Su is one of the few actual friends that He Zhong has made since she got here—not the smile and fake nice kind of friend. Her brother-in-law was right, there's a difference, and she's learned it. No, Qin Su's friendship has been easy, and somewhat genuine.
(And she actually knows what the people surrounding Huija are like, just like Shi Wudu—but she's in class with her, and it makes He Zhong feel far less out of the loop.)
“…Well, there’s always his uncles,” He Zhong points out, bending down to look at another row of books. “Maybe one of their families will want to move in? They’ve both got kids, so…”
So a big house like that would make sense for them.
Come to think of it, the house they’re moving into is smaller. Still massive for three people. (Soon to be five, she reminds herself gleefully.)
But that makes it kind of surprising, thinking about how her brother-in-law lived there for so many years alone.
It makes her think of the first time he came over to their old place.
He Zhong had been excited, if not a little nervous—wondering how they could host such a wealthy, glamorous person.
Only for Shi Wudu to pass out on the couch after a home-cooked meal, watching TV with them.
Back then, He Zhong had thought: how long had it been since Shi Wudu had relaxed, if he passed out that quickly?
And now, she wonders how lonely it must have been before.
“…!”
Qin Su glances up when she sees a clear dart of movement from the corner of her eye, frowning when she sees her friend clutching her temple.
“…Hey, you okay?”
He Zhong blinks, breathing through her nose. “…Yeah, just a bad headache.”
“Like a migraine?”
“Not that bad yet.”
“Should we go to the nurse?”
“No, no—I get these when the weather changes a lot, it passes,” He Zhong assures her with a smile, fighting back another wince. “Besides, the final bell is in a few minutes. If anything’s really wrong with me, gege will take care of it.”
“Oh—right.” Qin Su blinks. “I forget he went to medical school sometimes.”
“Everyone does, don’t worry about it.”
“I mean they always put it in the magazine—“ she starts, then stops, a slow blush spreading across her cheeks.
He Zhong used to get, well, embarrassed by the constant and casual admissions from kids her age that they’d read about her brother in teen gossip magazines. You know, the kind that splashes some famous actor’s face across the cover, advertising a personality quiz, saying, ‘see if you’re compatible!’
But now, it’s all just sort of the same.
And for Qin Su’s part, she literally is saved by the bell, clutching her book a little tighter to her chest as what few students remain start filtering out of the library.
“Did you pick one?”
“…” He Zhong looks back, sliding a book from the shelf gingerly, like she’s scared it’ll crumble into dust upon contact. “Yeah, let’s go!”
There's a gray kind of light in places like this. The same cheap, solid furniture—overly warm toned woods, everything cushioned. Every chair has to rock—nothing will stand flat. The beds don't have posts. The sinks don't have sharp corners.
And yet, in the midst of all of that manufactured safety, there's a perpetual bleakness that seems to seep down to the bone. A dull, maddening sense of quiet, only broken by muffled shouts from the other side of the door.
You'd think for a place like this, where they send you to get well, they'd do anything but leave you alone with your thoughts.
But thoughts are all Zhao Yi has.
Staring at the ceiling, tracing small cracks and divots in tiles. The kind you could push in with your hands if you could reach.
Breathing in the sterile smell of hand sanitizer and bleach. Tasting dry, filtered air.
And he thinks, and thinks, and thinks.
Obsession is recursive. Like your thoughts are trapped in this slow, inevitable curve. They creep forward, but always circle back.
And like an itch just underneath your skin, you claw into it with your nails. Going deeper, deeper, deeper, until flesh tears and blood flows.
There's someone outside Zhao Yi's door.
The faint smell of an alpha cutting through the antiseptic and the shouting and the artificial light.
That smell has been there since he woke up through the sedation.
Someone's been out there for two hours.
And that door automatically unlocks for dinner at five p.m.
Zhao Yi's eyes drift toward the ceiling, his tongue slowly sliding over the guards locking over his fangs, keeping his jaw locked at an unnatural position.
He was only asked to wear them once before now. This time, it wasn't a request.
Actually, back then.
It was more of a hesitant suggestion.
Back when his classmate was hesitant and nervous, squirming ever so slightly, holding one hand over his stomach as the cramping started to kick in.
Shi Wudu was too proud to admit to the pain, and Zhao Yi appreciated it back then. In part because it would make it a satisfying process to make him cry his heart out, and in part because he didn't want to hear about the more anatomical aspects of an omega's experience.
But he had said, hesitantly:
‘Don't you think you should wear...?’
Zhao Yi remembers how annoyed he felt, back then. The way his eyes flashed, and he saw his partner shrink. Slightly, so slightly. A keener eye wouldn't have noticed.
But Zhao Yi grew up with an uncle who made him feel small. He knew the look of someone who had experienced the same. An absence of affection.
And even if Shi Wudu was too proud, too sensible to show weakness, he was only human.
Zhao Yi was the first one to hold him since his mother died, and Shi Wudu was young, inexperienced. Raised to believe his role was to please him—as he should have been.
All Zhao Yi had to do was curl his lip back, eyes narrowing, and ask:
‘You think I can't control myself?’
That was all it took for the young omega to avert his eyes, and mutter an apology for such a stupid question.
And now Zhao Yi is here, unable to even gnash his teeth.
But he can still remember what it felt like, sinking them into someone else.
Can still taste the pulse under his tongue. The faint taste of iron dripping down his throat.
Zhao Yi can still remember watching his mate’s heartbeat throb under his skin the last time he…
Mate.
Chemical bond.
Probably already—
She’s been waiting since lunch.
Idly walking back and forth down the hall. Making a play at being aimless. Faceless.
All while waiting for the click of the automatic locks.
The last time she saw her boy, it was one of his soccer matches. The slow, uninteresting kind, where the children get disinterested before they’ve even made it halfway to the goal.
But her boy would run his heart out, even when no one was chasing him. He’d look back at her and his other mother, and he’d grin so wide, it must have hurt.
She imagines him on the ground, crying and clutching his arm, staring up at her in fear.
It makes her jaw ache. It makes her hands twitch.
It makes her want to get through that door.
But she paces, she waits, and she thinks.
She thinks, and thinks, and thinks.
Until.
Click.
Her head whips around, eyes narrowing as she takes a step down the hall.
But the door flies open so violently, it hits the opposite wall.
Bang!
There's just a moment of hesitation when she sees a figure come stumbling out, clutching his stomach.
A brief instant where she's frozen, tilting her head to the side. Watching the sweaty pallor on his face. The way he staggers forward, one hand clutched over his mouth.
In the next, her eyes narrow, and she decides she doesn't care.
Sick or not, it doesn't make a difference to her.
Even as he starts staggering down the hall, and she quickens her pace behind him.
It doesn't matter if she rips his throat out with her teeth in his room, the hall, the cafeteria. She doesn't care if it's in public or in private.
Things don't change for her either way.
"Sir?" One of the nurses standing around the station looks up, startled. "You're supposed to wait for a—"
Then Zhao Yi's hand drops from his mouth, and he heaves.
Blood gushes to the floor.
It splatters at first, then sluggishly spreads, only to smear when the new patient drops to his hands and knees, vomiting more and more.
She's frozen from a few steps behind, hands twitching at her sides as the nurses start moving about in a flurry, rushing toward him as they grab equipment.
When they roll him onto his side, all she can think is: No.
Zhao Yi trembles violently, his jaw locking as one orderly tries to hold his head still and free his airway.
"Sir? Did you swallow anything?" one of them asks, unnecessarily loudly—it's not as if anyone else is making a sound.
It's not such an uncommon thing. You'd be shocked what people do to get out of here, even if it puts them in the ICU.
Zhao Yi smiles, his teeth soaked with red, and she lunges, trying to shove past a guard.
"R-razor blade."
He hears the woman who was waiting outside his door snarl, and his smile grows wider.
They really went that far, didn’t they?
Did Shi Wudu try to have him killed?
That thought seems to excite him more than anything.
“HEY!” The other alpha snarls as two guards wrestle her back, one holding each arm. “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING SO SMUG ABOUT?! YOU’RE JUST A FUCKING LOSER WHO BEAT HIS KID!”
The nurses don’t stop moving, and an ambulance can be heard approaching.
But the patients have all stopped lining up for dinner, turning to stare at him.
“WHAT OMEGA WOULD WANT A PATHETIC PIECE OF SHIT LIKE YOU?!”
And just like that, the grin drops from Zhao Yi’s face.
That's right, she thinks, her chest heaving from the effort it takes to struggle against two grown men—but they're betas, and she's only a week out from her rut, leaving her muscles stronger, more responsive than normal.
Come and get me, you evil prick.
She lived in the underground for over ten years. She'll rip apart that prep school kid before he even—
Zhao Yi pushes himself up on one hand, his lips pulling back.
But then he's retching again, and more blood spatters across the floor.
A pair of paramedics rush in through the sliding doors, rolling a gurney, and she snarls, kicking fitfully until the doctor that crept up behind her slips a needle into her neck, and her limbs go slack.
They don't usually take calls like this.
Well, Song Xiaoqing is in no place to say what they usually do or don't do—but in the month since she finished training, they've responded to a lot of nursing homes. A suspected case of alcohol poisoning at a university here and there. And sure, on a crazy night, they might pick up a potential cardiac event.
But they've never picked someone up from a place like this. The patient is silent and clammy when they lock the stretcher into place, and the front of his shirt is completely soaked with blood.
"Are you sure..." she starts, swallowing as she watches her partner push his sleeve up, pulling out her blood pressure cuff. "Isn't that place for..."
Kang Xin is so much more experienced than her, and the alpha doesn't look up as she goes about her work. "I hope you're not about to say something off-color about mental illness."
"No—god, no—but isn't that place for...violent offenders?"
Kang Xin shrugs, nodding to where the patient is handcuffed to the side of the gurney. "Between that and the blood loss, there's nothing for you to be scared of."
Still, when Song Xiaoqing doesn't seem particularly comforted, she sighs. "You drive, then. I'll get the IV line started."
Song Xiaoqing nods, letting in a shaky sigh as she walks around to the front, climbing into the cab and starting the engine.
“D-does this happen a lot?”
“Psychiatric hospitals are usually better about keeping stuff like that out of reach,” Kang Xin murmurs, gloving up before she tears open the IV pack. “But if they can, they’ll do it.”
“Why?”
“Because those places are usually pretty inhumane.” She shrugs, bracing one hand against the gurney as they pull onto the road. “Some people will do anything to get a few days out of there.”
“Where are we dropping him?”
“Central North.”
“Isn’t East closer?”
“They already called in to warn us that they’re full.”
“Is he going to be able to hold out to Central North?”
Kang Xin glances down at the meter on the blood pressure cuff, and she frowns.
“That’s weird.”
“What is?”
“His blood pressure is—“
And for some reason, Song Xiaoqing’s partner stops talking.
“…What’s wrong with his blood pressure?” She repeats. “…Kang Xin…?”
One moment slips into another as her eyes slip upwards, finding the mirror that gives her a view back to the medical bay.
Her knuckles grow white on the steering wheel, eyes bulging out of her head as a scream tears from her, so loud, it leaves her throat feeling raw.
A bloodstreaked face is smiling back at her. Eyes sharp and clear. Kang Xin is frozen—and even if she could move, she wouldn't dare.
One of the seatbelt cutters they have for pulling people out of cars—a long, slightly blunted blade.
It's been jammed into the side of her neck.
"Should have cuffed both hands, don't you think?"
Song Xiaoqing flinches, another scream ready to tear from her throat.
"Pull over."
Her hands start to jerk at first, so quick to comply, only to desperately try to smooth out the movement when she hears Kang Xin gasp and choke as the blade is jostled inside of her throat from the movement.
Song Xiaoqing puts the rig into park, hands buzzing agains the steering wheel. No—shaking. She's shaking.
They don't have a panic button. If she picks up the radio, he could kill Kang Xin in a second.
"Come back here."
A strangled whimper escapes her as she frantically shakes her head, but no one's ever done this to her before. She's always been too scared, too nervous to let them try. And even shaking her head—it has her temples throbbing with pain.
After a moment, her hand snaps out to unclick her seatbelt, her movements robotic as she climbs out of the cab—and even still, there are already tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Uncuff me."
"I-I d-don't know w-where she put the key—!" Song Xiaoqing croaks, clutching her head when the alpha snarls.
"Find it."
"..." Song Xiaoqing scrambles, fumbling around on her hands and knees, fingers shaking so badly, she keeps unintentionally jostling her partner as she goes through her pockets. "I-I'm sorry," she rasps, watching the blood drip sluggishly from the stab wound on her neck. "I-I'm so..."
The minute the blade is pulled loose, she'll...
Her fingers wrap around the key, and she stumbles over to the side of the gurney, trembling violently—and it only gets worse every time he snarls at her to hurry up.
The handcuffs fall loose, landing against the railing of the gurney with a clang.
"On your knees."
What color remained in Song Xiaoqing's face drains as her legs buckle, and her partner lets out a strangled hiss.
Zhao Yi rubs at his wrist, licking blood from the corner of his mouth as he stares down at the young woman.
Too soft. Too young. He can't even focus on that sleek ponytail and pretend.
He hears her short, panicked breaths, and his lips pull back into a sneer.
"...Why the hell do they even let omegas do jobs like this? It's pitiful."
Song Xiaoqing can't stop looking at every sharp object in the rig. Or even just the hard, metal wall he could slam her head against until it was over.
They haven't done a domestic violence call yet, but she knows.
She knows what happens.
Her lips tremble, and Zhao Yi grabs her by the chin, forcing her to look up.
"I—"
"Say you want me."
It's not a command this time, and it's enough for her to blink sluggishly, more tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. "I-I—?"
"Say it."
W-was it because of what that woman screamed at him when they were picking him up?
Crack!
"Say it!"
"I-I want you!" Song Xiaoqing croaks, her breaths coming faster when Zhao Yi's hand reaches behind him, landing on a heavy, sealed oxygen cannister.
"...M-my Ba died last year," she says in a rush, making him pause. Not with sympathy—merely surprise. "I'm an only—only child. I'm all my Diē has. I take c-care of him. I d-don't w...want to leave h-him a-alone, please—!"
Bang!
The oxygen canister slams into the wall just beside her head, and she screams, wrapping her arms around herself.
"...Don't pick up the radio," he tells her. "Don't pick up the phone."
Song XIaoqing's head snaps up, just in time to watch Zhao Yi yank the knife from her partner's neck.
Blood splatters across her face as he steps toward the back of the rig, twisting the handle to push the door open.
His feet hit the ground as she scrambles forward, desperately staunching the bleeding.
Somehow, it missed the carotid, but it's not good.
They've only worked together for a few weeks, but Kang Xin keeps a photo of her nieces taped to the dash of the rig. She smiles at dumb jokes. She held Song Xiaoqing's hand the first time they lost someone in transit.
"Y-you're gonna be okay," Song Xiaoqing tells her, tears falling from her face onto her hands as she presses gauze to the wound. "I-I'm so sorry, you're gonna be okay!"
But no one knows where they are. And every time she tries to reach for the radio, it's like a knife is driving itself into her skull.
She feels a light tap against her wrist, and when she looks down, Kang Xin's fingers have wrapped around it. Steady, somehow.
Their eyes meet, and the alpha parts her lips, sucking in an unsteady breath:
"Run."
Song Xiaoqing jumps, staring at her in disbelief. "I-I can't—"
"Run."
She swallows, and with some last vestige of strength, Kang Xin slides her hand underneath hers, sustaining the pressure on her own.
Song Xiaoqing glances at the doors leading out of the back of the rig, left slightly ajar.
What if he's still out there, waiting to see what she does?
What if she's too slow, and Kang Xin—
She swallows, and she closes her eyes.
Her legs feel rubbery as she slides across the floor, sucking in one breath before she kicks one door open.
Her knees almost buckle when her feet touch down.
He did wait.
His lips pull back over his teeth, and he—
Thud!
That same oxygen canister from before comes crashing against his skull, sending him to the ground, teeth rattling, stars exploding in front of his eyes.
One hand flies to his temple, staunching the blood starting to drip from there.
Song Xiaoqing is already half way down the street. Arms pumping by her sides. Boots smacking against the sidewalk. That ponytail swinging with each stride, and another memory strikes Zhao Yi.
The slow sway of a ship. The taste of salt. The wind on his cheeks.
Dark eyes staring at him, with a white knuckled grip on the railing.
The moment Zhao Yi realized the omega he wanted would die for the chance to run.
He sucks in a breath. "Sto—"
His own voice is drowned out by the scream that tears from Song Xiaoqing's throat, and she doesn't stop. Doesn't let herself hear him, even as she rounds the bend, disappearing from sight.
Zhao Yi glances down at his bloodstained shirt. The ambulance a few feet away, door slightly ajar.
He forces himself to his feet, hand still clutched to his temple.
And he runs in the opposite direction.