Against the Algorithm

Chapter 54: Given, Not Owed

She reached the stairs and turned left, not once looking over her shoulder. But she didn't have to. Because she knew he'd be behind her in three minutes. Bag in hand. Travel safe slung over his shoulder. Carrying what he wouldn't let herself carry, even if she could. Because this was what they did. She climbed the stairs to her apartment with her cats at her side—Da Bing walking like a guardian, Xiao Cong nestled like royalty—and by the time she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the base felt like it was breathing again.

The soft knock on her door wasn't really a knock—it was just habit, a subtle courtesy he never abandoned.

Yao had just set Xiao Cong down on the window ledge, where the kitten promptly stretched with a self-important chirp and flopped over in a dramatic sprawl, when the door opened behind her. Da Bing let out a quiet grrrumph from where he had planted himself, tail flicking as if re-establishing his claim on the space.

Sicheng entered without fanfare, carrying both her overnight bag and the reinforced travel safe with the same ease he brought into match point. His steps were quiet, steady, the bags handled like they mattered—not just because of their contents, but because they were hers. He didn't speak as he set the overnight bag near the dresser and crossed to the bed, carefully placing the travel safe atop the comforter like it was made of glass and silence. Then he stepped back—not out of the room, just enough to give her space to breathe.

Yao stood in place for a moment, watching it. That sleek case was a vault in every sense of the word—one that carried names, ledgers, weight. She moved to it slowly, fingers brushing the top before pressing the code and unlocking the mechanism with a muted click. She lifted the lid. Inside, the scent of velvet and clean metal greeted her again—cool, sterile, faintly cold. There were documents still nestled in the lower compartment, folded letters, notarized transfers, and sealed envelopes. She didn't touch those today. Today, her eyes moved to the jewelry section in the top tray. Pieces carefully padded and lined. Antique chains. Brushed gold. Stones she didn't yet know the names of, but instinctively knew had meant something once. Her fingers hovered briefly before she began removing the select few she'd promised herself she'd keep close. She crossed the room and stopped in front of the small, worn jewelry box sitting at the edge of her dresser.

It wasn't fancy—not by any stretch of the imagination. The wood was faded in places, the edges softened by time and fingers that had touched it often. A single hinge on the back was slightly looser than it should have been, and the velvet inside was fraying around the corners. It didn't sparkle. It didn't command attention. But it was hers. And it had belonged to her mother.

Yao opened the lid gently. Inside, the trays were shallow and neatly organized, made for smaller pieces—things worn with care, not flash. She took each item from the safe and placed it inside with precise movements: the slender emerald necklace, a curved gold bracelet, two pairs of earrings with stones she didn't recognize but had a strange, quiet attachment to already. She arranged them carefully—not to display, but to keep. To remember. When she was done, she closed the lid. Her hand lingered on top of it. "...I'm going to need a bigger one soon," she whispered, not entirely to herself.

Sicheng remained where he was, one shoulder leaned against the wall, watching her in the reflection of the mirror. His voice was quiet, steady. "You'll always make room."

Yao nodded once, then returned to the bed and closed the travel safe without hesitation. She climbed up on the small step-stool and lifted it into the top of her closet, slotting it carefully between a box of seasonal sweaters and the emergency humidifier. Out of sight. For now. But not forgotten. She stepped down again, brushing her hands against her hips to steady herself, and turned toward him. He hadn't moved. But he didn't need to. He was exactly where he always was when she needed him—close. Steady. Silent, until she was ready to speak. And for now? That was enough.