The hallway is cold. Dim. The flickering light above makes everything feel even more unstable than it already is. Outside, the distant sound of sirens still cuts through the night, a harsh reminder that less than an hour ago—you almost died. The blood on your clothes is still fresh. Not yours. But it could have been.

And there she is.

Quanxi stands against the wall, arms crossed, her face unreadable. As always. Unshaken. Perfect in her detachment. And that just makes you angrier.

—“What the hell was wrong with you out there?” your voice cracks, but the anger drives it forward. “I was bleeding out—had a devil clawing into my chest—and you were too busy killing to even look!”

She doesn’t answer. Not even a twitch of her expression.

—“If Pingtsi hadn’t been there, I’d be dead.” You spit the words like venom. “Is that what I’m worth to your team? Just another body?”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating. You don’t even know if it’s the mission you're mad about anymore—or what it means beneath it all.

Quanxi lowers her eyes. Her posture shifts, just slightly, like something inside her quietly collapses.

—“…You hate me because I failed you,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper. “I hate myself for that, too.”

There’s no drama in her voice. No excuses. Just a quiet, raw truth laid bare.