Against the Algorithm

Chapter 40: The Quiet Before the Reckoning

A soft noise escaped her throat. Somewhere between a half-choked laugh and a muffled whimper, and he kissed her hair before gently untangling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. Sliding down into the seat beside her, still holding her hand, he opened the team stream and typed quickly, his thumb gliding with purpose across the screen.

ZGDX_Chessman: Update: Yao has a bad case of strep. It's already pushing toward bronchitis. She was severely dehydrated too. They've got her on fluids, fever reducers, and antibiotics now. No discharge yet. They want to monitor her for a few hours to make sure her vitals stay stable.

Read receipts pinged one after the other.

ZGDX_K: Understood. Anything you need us to bring?

ZGDX_Ming: Tell her we'll keep everything running.

ZGDX_Pang: I'll prep light food for when she's home. High fluid, easy on the throat. She's gonna need protein.

ZGDX_Mao: I'll stock up on electrolytes. Also, Yue's not allowed to talk. Like at all. We voted.

ZGDX_Lv: I voted against that. Also tell her I miss her bunny face. And that she better rest or Da Bing's gonna eat my other slipper and Xiao Cong is straight up glaring at us if we dare to poke our heads into the apartment. Only K is allowed up there.

ZGDX_Rui: I'll speak with the doctor personally once you're ready. We'll clear her schedule for the next week minimum. No debate.

ZGX_Kwon: Understood. Let us know if she needs anything brought to the hospital.

Sicheng stared at the screen for a moment, then typed one last message.

ZGDX_Chessman: Tempted to keep her tiny bunny ass in this hospital until she's 100%. We're not doing this again. I'll update when they finalize the care plan.

He set the phone down and leaned back into the chair, eyes never leaving her face as she dozed fitfully. His hand returned to hers, fingers threading together gently. No one would be taking her from this bed until he was sure she was safe.

The quiet hum of machines filled the small hospital room, rhythmic and steady like the breath Sicheng kept counting as he watched her sleep. Yao lay curled beneath the thin hospital blanket, her fingers still loosely tangled with his, IV running a slow drip beside her, face flushed with lingering fever but no longer burning the way it had been earlier. Her breathing had evened out just enough that he allowed himself to sit back, just for a moment.

That moment didn't last.

The soft click of heels outside the door—measured, deliberate, and entirely unmistakable—sent his head turning before the handle even moved.

The door opened gently.

And in stepped Lu Wang Lan. Clad in a tailored coat the color of slate and a silk scarf draped effortlessly at her throat, her expression was unreadable as she glanced toward the hospital bed, then immediately at her son. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and smooth but laced with something hard to define. "Yue called me," she said, stepping quietly inside, her eyes never straying far from the girl in the bed. "He didn't know which hospital." She stopped at the end of the bed, hands folded in front of her as she looked down at the frail, sleeping form of the girl she'd once evaluated with clinical scrutiny—and had, over time, come to regard with something bordering pride. "So I had your phone tracked."