Shadows between US ( Lingorm )

Chapter 69 : Routine, Self-Defense and Unexpected Guest

The soft light of dawn slipped through the curtains, spilling across the quiet room. Lingling stirred first, blinking groggily as her ears picked up the faint, rhythmic sound of thuds and smacks coming from outside — the kind of sharp, deliberate noises she knew too well.

Punches. Kicks. Controlled breathing. Someone was working out.

She turned her head slightly, smiling at the sight beside her. Orm was curled up on her side, still fast asleep, hair a little messy, her lips slightly parted as she breathed softly against Lingling’s shoulder. A warmth settled over Lingling’s chest at the sight — peaceful, unguarded, human. The kind of peace she never thought she’d deserve again.

Lingling carefully slipped out of bed, moving with the precision of a trained soldier avoiding tripwires. She grabbed a clean shirt, a pair of joggers, and quietly dressed in the bathroom. When she stepped out, she took another glance at Orm before heading downstairs.

Outside the glass doors of the safehouse’s back patio, she saw Namtan under the pale morning light — hands wrapped in makeshift bandages, sweat glistening across her arms, striking a hanging sandbag they’d rigged using leftover supplies. Each hit was sharp and efficient, her stance clean, her form professional.

Lingling opened the door, letting the crisp morning air hit her face. Namtan paused mid-punch and turned around.

“Morning,” Lingling greeted, stepping out barefoot onto the cool concrete.

Namtan raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming. “Morning. You’re up early.”

Lingling crossed her arms. “Could say the same for you. You hitting ghosts or stress?”

“Both,” Namtan said simply, throwing one last jab before she stepped back.

Lingling chuckled quietly. “Mind if I join? Haven’t done a proper workout in days.”

Namtan’s smirk faltered, replaced with concern. “You sure that’s a good idea? You’re still healing, boss. Your stitches might not be ready for that.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lingling said, rolling her shoulder as if to prove it.

Namtan gave her a skeptical look. “If Orm finds out you tore a stitch because you couldn’t sit still, she’s going to murder me first, then you.”

Before Lingling could answer, a familiar voice — soft but edged with worry — came from behind her.

“What exactly are you two planning to do?”

Lingling froze. Slowly, she turned her head to find Orm standing by the doorway, wrapped in one of Lingling’s oversized hoodies, her hair a little messy from sleep, her glasses slightly askew.

Lingling gave a sheepish grin. “Uh… morning, sweetheart.”

Orm crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly — that dangerous, disappointed look that always made Lingling feel like a guilty schoolgirl. “Morning. Now answer the question.”

“I was just going to ask Namtan for a light sparring exercise,” Lingling admitted, rubbing the back of her neck.

Orm’s expression darkened. “Absolutely not! You are still recovering, Ling. What part of rest and heal sounds like ‘kick things until your stitches open again’ to you?”

Lingling blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “I— I just felt stiff. I thought a few stretches and punches wouldn’t hurt.”

Orm stepped forward, voice trembling between anger and fear. “What if it bleeds again? What if the wound tears open? Do you want to go back to the hospital? Do you think I can go through that again?”