The paramedics hauled the sick man away after I gave them my cashcard number, saying that I would cover all medical costs. They knew I was good on my word simply because I was a you. The female paramedic said I could call the Three Hills Hospital for an update on his status the next morning, but I didn’t even know the stranger’s name. Lingyi sent me a message in the afternoon that I retrieved from my MacFold in helmet. Arun had seen what had happened in the square and left when the airambulance arrived. She wanted to know how I was and get an update on my situation. Her last sentences read: It was too much of a risk. You shouldn’t have done it.

I deleted her message.

After a minute pause, she sent another message: I’m serious, Zhou. You drew unnecessary attention to yourself that could compromise the mission.

Heat flooded my face, and my vision went black for a moment. My hands were trembling with anger when I spat out my response: “So I should have just let him die? Like any other you would have?”

Like I was forced to watch my own mom die. Flashback to my thirteen-year-old self grasping her fingers—too numb to cry—as she struggled for each rasping breath. I couldn’t picture her face easily now, but I could still feel her hand in mine. She’d squeeze with the slightest pressure in response . . . until she couldn’t anymore.

Lingyi took longer to reply this time as my heart raced in my chest: That’s not what I meant. But the mission has to come first. You know that.

I wanted to scream. Punch the wall.

What if Jin was watching? she went on. You were already on his radar.

She was right. I did know. Our mission was paramount. And I had acted rashly for personal reasons. Compassion didn’t figure into the equation for what we needed to do.

It won’t happen again, I replied.

I know you have a good heart, Zhou. I’ve known from the start, she messaged. Then ended the convo with two pink hearts.

I unstrapped my Vox, threw it on my bed, and rock climbed the rest of the night. After almost three hours of scaling the walls and ceiling, my body finally gave out on me, and I hung upside down from a horizontal bar. I turned off all the lights with a voice command and gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the shimmering lights of Taipei below. The 101 was ringed in red neon tonight, reflective of my own moods: Rushed. Impatient. Angry.