AiLin's breaths came in thin, shallow gasps as relief flooded her veins. The tension had drained from her so quickly that her head spun, and for a moment, she wavered on her feet. Before she could collapse, Li ZiChen's arms were around her, steady and warm, holding her up. He pulled her close, cradling her against his chest, his touch grounding her.
Now that the storm had passed, her body betrayed her, her limbs weak, her energy slipping away as if exhaustion had finally caught up with her all at once.
"You need to rest," Li ZiChen murmured, his voice low, steady, yet laced with concern.
"But what about LiAi?" AiLin's fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, desperation in her touch. "I can't rest. Not when she's still sick. Not when—"
