Against the Algorithm

Chapter 58: Measured Steps

Sicheng didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. He stepped into the room, glanced once at each of them, and said, "Reminder." The noise dropped immediately. "We're flying out early tomorrow," he continued, arms crossing over his chest. "Pack whatever you need tonight. We leave by seven sharp."

Yue lifted his head. "For Beijing?"

Sicheng nodded. "Yao's defense is Monday morning. We're staying through midweek, so don't bring just one outfit."

"Do we need suits?" Pang asked, suddenly panicked.

"No," Sicheng replied dryly. "Just don't look like you got dressed in the dark."

Lao Mao grinned. "So, no to Yue's bunny hoodie?"

Yue scowled. "That hoodie's iconic."

Sicheng gave him a long look. "Iconically bad."

Yue opened his mouth.

Sicheng lifted a brow.

Yue closed his mouth.

The Captain's expression softened, just slightly. He didn't say Yao's name again. He didn't need to. They all knew why this trip mattered. Why it was important. Why are the stakes different now. And none of them, not one, intended to mess it up. "Get some rest." he said simply, then turned toward the stairs. He had someone waiting for him upstairs. Someone who had just handed him her trust and that mattered more than anything.

The scent of something light—miso, rice, maybe sautéed greens—hung gently in the air as Sicheng stepped back into the apartment, door closing with a soft click behind him. The lights were warm, not too bright, the kitchen bathed in the muted glow of the under cabinet fixtures Yao always turned on first. She was standing at the stove, barefoot, hair swept over one shoulder, the hem of her soft sleep shirt fluttering slightly as she moved to stir the contents of a small pot.

The apartment was quiet except for the faint simmering of broth and the soft sound of her wooden spoon.

She looked up as he walked in, and her eyes, still touched by the flicker of nerves that never fully left, met his with that same mix of trust and something softer. Something hopeful. "...Did you get everything settled?" she asked, voice light but cautious.

He nodded. "Everything's locked away."

She gave a small nod in return, turned back to the stove for a moment, then—without looking this time, spoke again. Softer. Almost shy. "Are you..." she paused, fingers adjusting the heat dial absently, "...are you staying here tonight?" She glanced at him, her lashes brushing low against her cheeks. "I mean, up here. With me. Not in your room downstairs." Her voice faded off near the end. She didn't look away. But her hand tightened slightly on the wooden spoon.

Sicheng didn't say anything for a moment. He just stepped into the kitchen slowly, walked up behind her without a sound, and wrapped his arms gently around her waist, resting his chin lightly against the curve of her shoulder. "I was always staying here," he murmured, voice low and warm against her skin.

She exhaled, soft and unsteady. "You didn't ask," she whispered.

"I didn't need to." He kissed the back of her neck.

She didn't say anything else. She didn't have to. Because when the rice was done and the broth had cooled and the bowls were filled and the dishes set aside. She knew he would still be there. Wrapped around her in the dark. Just like always.

The rice had just been portioned, the broth set to simmering low as Yao leaned over the counter to double-check the bowls. Sicheng was leaned against the edge of the kitchen island, watching her with that quiet look he always wore when she wasn't paying attention—part fondness, part possessiveness, part low-key amusement.