Against the Algorithm

Chapter 24: The Shape of Clarity

But he didn't give her a chance to answer. He just stepped back, turned, and walked. And she followed. Because of course she did. Because even now, even with everything between them unspoken, unresolved, unfinished—she always followed him. He led her just around the corner, out of view of the main set but still within the soft hum of activity, behind one of the backdrop walls that hadn't been used yet, and only when he was sure they were alone—only when he turned and saw her standing there, arms lightly folded across her middle, chin ducked just slightly like she wasn't sure if this was going to be a conversation or a confrontation—did he finally speak.

"You're avoiding me."

Her lips parted, then closed again. She shifted slightly on her feet. "I'm not."

"You are."

"Sicheng—"

He stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough to make her lift her gaze to him again, enough to remind her that space was something he allowed when it came to her, not something she could hide behind. "I didn't do anything wrong last night," he said, voice low and even, but edged with the weight of everything she hadn't said since then. "I didn't take advantage. I didn't push you."

"I know."

"I stopped when I should've."

"I know, Sicheng—"

"Then why are you acting like I crossed a line?"

Her mouth opened again, but the words didn't come. And that? That was worse than anything.

Because for a second—for just a split second—he saw the doubt flicker across her face. Not doubt in him. But in herself. And suddenly, he understood. She didn't know what to do with how much she wanted. She didn't know how to carry the weight of that kiss. That intimacy. That hunger. She was afraid of how much it meant. And that—that was something he could work with. So he stepped even closer, his voice dropping into that low, smooth cadence that always reached her, always cut through whatever flustered fog she was drowning in. "I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen, Tong Yao. And I'm not going to let you pretend either."

She looked at him then—really looked at him—and the heat that rushed into her cheeks, the way her fingers curled tighter around the sleeves of her jacket, the way her breath hitched—

That was her answer.

And Lu Sicheng?

Lu Sicheng had never been more sure. Because she wasn't pulling back out of regret. She was pulling back out of fear. But fear never stopped him before. And it wasn't going to start now. Because it wasn't just that she was more distant. It was who was watching her. He waited. Not because he was uncertain. Not because he doubted himself.

But because Lu Sicheng had learned long ago that timing was everything—and if he approached her too soon, with the burn of Su Luo's presence still lingering across her skin, with the flustered confusion still clouding her mind, she would shut down. Retreat. Curl herself back into the armor of polite professionalism she wore when the world felt like too much. He reached her, his hand gently curling around her wrist—not hard, not forceful, but firm enough that she stopped mid-step, head turning slowly, hazel eyes blinking wide as they met his. He simply stepped in—closer than polite, closer than professional, closer than anyone else was ever allowed to stand near her—and said, his voice low, smooth, laced with something darker beneath the surface, "What did she say to you?"

Yao stilled.

Her mouth parted. But no words came. Not at first. Because she knew that tone. She had felt it the moment he started watching Su Luo like a man about to break something. And now—now it was turned on her, not in anger, but in focus.