Lian stood under a broken awning, one hand in her pocket, the other gripping the handle of a duffel bag that was heavier than it should have been.

  Kai arrived a minute later, breath visible in the chill air, hood drawn low. His eyes darted once over her shoulder, scanning, then he gave the smallest nod. Safe, for now.

  “Got it?” she asked.

  He unzipped his jacket and pulled out a small metal drive, water glinting on his fingers. “Everything from the warehouse servers. I wiped their backups too.”

  Lian took it, studying it under the flickering streetlight. “Encrypted?”

  “Triple layer,” he said. “But it’s messy. Someone had been in there before me. Not our kind of messy — military-grade messy.”

  She looked at him, eyebrows tightening. “You’re sure?”

  Kai nodded. “The protocols were off-pattern. Whoever set them knew exactly what to hide. It wasn’t a random gang. This was something else.”

  Lian turned away, watching a puddle ripple under the rain. “The men at the pier didn’t move like bodyguards either,” she said quietly.

  Kai gave a humorless laugh. “So, not just another trafficking boss with hired muscle.”

  She didn’t answer. The silence between them stretched, filled only by the rain hitting the awning.

  Finally, Lian slung the duffel over her shoulder. “We move for now and talk inside.”

  They walked the next few blocks in silence, weaving through wet markets now shuttered for the night. When they reached the safehouse — a forgotten top-floor apartment above a tailor shop — Kai keyed in the code. The old door clicked open, revealing their world: maps pinned to the walls, two laptops on a folding table, a half-eaten box of takeout on the counter. It smelled faintly of soy sauce and gun oil.

  Inside, the sound of the city softened. Lian dropped the duffel beside the bed, took off her coat, and sat down, her body still humming with leftover adrenaline.

  Kai threw himself onto the couch, exhaling sharply. “We got lucky,” he said.

  She gave him a look. “We don’t rely on luck.”

  “I know,” he said, rubbing his face. “But it’s true. That second team — the ones who came in through the back — if they’d been a minute earlier…”

  “We would’ve handled it,” Lian cut in.

  He frowned. “You really believe that?”

  She leaned back, eyes half-lidded. “Belief has nothing to do with it.”

  Kai didn’t reply. He pulled the laptop closer and plugged in the drive. The machine hummed softly. Lian watched as he began decrypting the first layer, lines of code reflecting in his eyes.

  Minutes passed. The rain became a constant hiss against the window.

  Finally, Kai spoke. “You ever think we’re not the only ones doing this?”

  Lian looked up from cleaning her knife. “What do you mean?”

  He hesitated, tapping a key. “I mean people like us. Someone else out there trying to burn the same rot down. Maybe more organized. Maybe better funded.”

  She shook her head. “No one does what we do for free.”

  “Then maybe they don’t do it for free,” he said. “Maybe they think they’re saving something.”

  Lian gave a faint smirk. “You sound like you want to believe that.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  The monitor blinked. The first layer broke. A string of files appeared, names blurred by random numbers. He clicked one open. It wasn’t what they expected — not transaction records, not shipment manifests.

  It was a series of personnel reports.

  Photos. Training evaluations. Payment logs.

  Each one stamped with a symbol they hadn’t seen before: a thin, silver circle with two slashes crossing the center.

  Lian leaned closer. “What is that?”

  Kai zoomed in. “Not triad, not military. Doesn’t match any agency I’ve seen.”

  He scrolled further. One name caught his attention — the same man they’d killed at the pier. Below his photo, the title read: Asset 314B — Decommissioned.

  Lian frowned. “Decommissioned?”

  Kai clicked the next file. Another man. Asset 315A — Transferred.

  “What is this?” Lian whispered. “A roster?”

  Kai nodded slowly. “Of something big. These guys weren’t free agents. They were part of a system.”

  The air in the room thickened. The word hung there — system — and neither of them liked the sound of it.

  Kai reached for the next layer of encryption, but Lian stopped him with a quiet hand.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Not tonight,” she said. “You’ve been at it for hours.”

  “I can finish it,” he insisted.

  “No,” she said, more sharply. “We need to think, not just react.”

  He looked frustrated but backed off, pushing the chair away. “Fine. So what do we do?”

  Lian stared at the drive, the little metal object that suddenly felt heavier than before. “We start small,” she said. “Find out who was paying them. Who used that symbol. If we dig too fast, we’ll draw attention.”

  Kai stood up and went to the window, watching the wet street below. “We already have attention.”

  “Then we stay ahead of it,” Lian said.

  He turned around, his face tight. “You make it sound easy.”

  “It isn’t,” she said simply.

  He gave a short laugh and shook his head. “You know, you could try saying something reassuring for once.”

  Lian looked at him, and for a second her expression softened. “You’re still here,” she said. “That’s enough.”

  He smiled faintly, tiredly. “I’ll take that.”

  The next morning, the rain had stopped but the air stayed heavy. Lian woke early, unable to shake the memory of the symbol on those files. She made tea, the smell of jasmine filling the small space. Kai was still asleep on the couch, his arm flung over his face, laptop resting beside him. He looked younger when he wasn’t frowning.

  She poured a second cup and set it beside him before sitting down at the table. Her phone buzzed once — a message from Mei.

  You alive?

  Lian typed back: Define alive.

  A moment later: Meet me at the stall near Argyle. Noon.

  Lian stared at the message for a few seconds before replying. Fine. Fifteen minutes.

  When Kai woke, she was already dressed.

  “You’re going out?” he asked groggily.

  “Contact,” she said.

  He sat up, hair a mess. “Want me to come?”

  She hesitated. “No. Stay on the files. See if you can trace that symbol.”

  Kai frowned. “You trust this contact?”

  “She’s careful,” Lian said.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only one you’ll get,” she said, already pulling on her gloves.

  Kai sighed. “Just… keep your comm open, alright?”

  She paused at the door and gave him a look. “I always do.”

  The noodle stall was already busy when Lian arrived. Steam rose from the pots, carrying the scent of soy and chili. Mei sat at the end of the counter, her dark hair tucked under a cap, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. She looked up when Lian approached, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips.

  “You look like hell,” Mei said.

  “Good morning to you too,” Lian replied, sliding onto the stool beside her.

  Mei handed her a bowl. “Eat. You’re no use to anyone starving.”

  Lian stirred the noodles absently. “You said you had something.”

  “I always have something,” Mei said lightly. “But this time, it’s something you’re not going to like.”

  Lian looked up. “Try me.”

  Mei leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Word on the street is someone’s been cleaning up the syndicate trash. No one’s saying who, but they’re scared. And last night, a team hit the pier. They are way too clean for amateurs.”

  Lian’s chopsticks paused midair.

  Mei smiled faintly. “I didn’t say it was you. But I don’t think it matters. Someone noticed. And they want to know why.”

  “Who?” Lian asked.

  “That’s the problem,” Mei said. “No one knows who they are. People call them LSK.”

  The name sat heavy between them. Lian kept her expression neutral, but something in her chest tightened.

  “What do they do?” she asked.

  “Everything,” Mei said. “Security, finance, bio-research, politics. You name it. No one ever sees their faces.”

  Lian frowned. “And the symbol?”

  Mei’s brow lifted. “You’ve seen it.”

  “Maybe,” Lian said.

  Mei took out her phone, tapped a few times, and showed her the screen. The same circle-and-slash insignia.

  “Where did you get that?” Lian asked.

  “From a contact in Kowloon City. He said it showed up in a shipment manifest last month. Equipment routed through front companies no one can trace. When he tried to ask questions, he disappeared.”

  Lian didn’t answer.

  Mei leaned back. “Whatever this thing is, it’s not just another syndicate and you should stay out of it.”

  Lian’s tone stayed calm. “That’s not really an option.”

  Mei sighed, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “I figured you’d say that.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of chopsticks and clinking bowls filling the air.

  Finally, Mei said quietly, “You’re still chasing ghosts, aren’t you?”

  Lian’s eyes flicked to her. “You don’t know what I’m chasing.”

  “Maybe not,” Mei said. “But you always look like you’re about to vanish.”

  Lian didn’t respond. She finished her noodles, dropped some cash on the counter, and stood.

  “Thanks for the information,” she said.

  Mei looked up at her. “Be careful, Lian.”

  “I always am.”

  “That’s what everyone says before it stops being true.”

  Lian walked away without replying, disappearing into the crowd.

  Back at the safehouse, Kai was pacing. When he saw her, he tossed a small device onto the table.

  “You’re not going to like this,” he said.

  She sat down. “Try me.”

  “I traced the symbol,” he said. “It’s connected to a holding firm registered in Zurich. Shell companies in Singapore, Panama, Dubai. But every time I tried to dig deeper, something hit back. Someone was watching their own system in real time.”

  Lian leaned forward. “And?”

  “And they tried to locate us,” he said. “I shut it down before they could.”

  Lian was silent for a long moment.

  Then she said softly, “They know someone’s looking.”

  “Yeah,” Kai said. “And now they’ll start looking back.”

  The room felt smaller, tighter. The rain had started again outside, faint and relentless.

  Lian stood, her face calm but her shoulders tense. “We move again tonight.”

  Kai exhaled, frustrated. “We just set this place up.”

  “They found us once, they can do it again,” she said.

  He dropped onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. “How long do we keep running?”

  “Until we don’t have to,” she said.

  Kai looked at her, eyes tired. “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only one I’ve got,” she said quietly.

  He laughed once, without humor. “You’re impossible.”

  Lian turned to face him, her voice soft but steady. “You’re alive because I am.”

  The words hung between them, sharp and real.

  Kai’s jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”

  “Neither is what we do,” she said. “Get ready.”

  He didn’t move for a while. Then, slowly, he stood and started packing.

  By midnight, they were gone. The room looked as if no one had ever been there. Only the faint smell of jasmine tea lingered.