Shenzhen was quieter than Lian remembered.

  At least, this part of it was. The industrial zone stretched wide and gray under the morning haze, the kind of place the city forgot existed. Warehouses stood in rows, their paint peeling, signs half-faded. It smelled like metal and rain-soaked dust.

  Lian leaned against the side of their van, scanning the perimeter with her binoculars. “Building seventeen,” she said. “No guards outside. Cameras, but half of them aren’t moving.”

  Kai sat inside, laptop balanced on his knees. “I can loop their feed for five minutes before the system pings for a reset. After that, they’ll know something’s off.”

  “Five minutes is long enough.”

  He frowned. “You always say that right before things take ten.”

  “Then we should move faster,” she said, pushing off the van.

  Kai sighed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “You ever consider being patient?”

  “I did,” she said. “Didn’t like it.”

  They moved in silence across the slick pavement, steps measured, breath steady. The rain was soft now, barely misting the air. Lian reached the door first, a heavy steel one with a faded biohazard sticker near the handle. She checked for sensors — none. Then she nodded for Kai.

  He crouched and jacked into the keypad. “Standard code lock, nothing fancy,” he said. A few seconds later, the panel light went green with a soft click. “We’re in.”

  Inside smelled of disinfectant and machine oil. The walls were white but stained near the baseboards, as if water had crept up from the floor. A faint hum came from somewhere below.

  Kai’s flashlight beam swept over stacks of old crates, glass vials, and rusted lab equipment. “Looks like they cleared out years ago,” he said.

  Lian crouched beside a crate labeled Zhou Biotech Division 3B. She brushed dust from the lid and pried it open. Inside were sealed folders — brittle, yellowing paper, stamped CONFIDENTIAL.

  “Years ago doesn’t mean gone,” she murmured.

  Kai flipped through a binder on a nearby table. “This one’s a data log. See the header? ‘Series K – Subject Stability Trials.’”

  Lian met his gaze. “Same phrase from the shard.”

  He nodded. “And dates… this one’s from last month.”

  The hum beneath them grew louder. Lian tilted her head toward the floor. “There’s something running below.”

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  Kai found a grated vent and shone his light through. Metal stairs descended into darkness. “Sublevel.”

  Lian tightened her gloves. “Stay close.”

  They moved down the stairs, the air growing colder with each step. The hum became clearer — not just machines but ventilation and faint beeping. At the bottom was another door, this one with a retinal scanner cracked open by force. Someone had been here recently.

  Lian drew her knife, holding it low. Kai powered up his wrist cam, syncing it with the feed above. “Recording,” he whispered.

  The door opened with a soft groan.

  The room beyond was smaller than she expected. Rows of glass tanks lined the walls, each filled with cloudy liquid. Some still had faint blue lights inside, illuminating what looked like... nothing. Others were empty but marked with tags.

  Kai’s voice was quiet. “This isn’t a lab for medicine.”

  “No,” Lian said. “It’s testing.”

  She moved closer to one of the tanks. Inside, faint outlines floated — shapes too vague to identify. Her reflection wavered against the glass, doubled and distorted.

  Kai approached a control panel. “There’s still power here. A data node too.”

  He connected his drive. The monitor flickered to life, revealing rows of serial codes, timestamps, and file names. One folder stood out — LSK_DONOR_REGISTRY.

  Kai exhaled. “So that’s what they were funding Zhou Biotech for. Human trials.”

  “Donors,” she repeated. “Always a polite word for victims.”

  He typed fast, pulling copies. “If this data matches the shard, we can trace the chain — labs, handlers, maybe even buyers.”

  A noise echoed down the hall. Something metallic shifting.

  Lian turned her head sharply. “Someone else is here.”

  Kai froze. “You sure?”

  She raised a hand, listening. The faint crunch of boots on glass carried through the corridor.

  “Pack it,” she whispered.

  He unplugged his drive and slung the laptop shut. They moved toward the stairwell, silent but alert. Lian peeked around the corner — a flashlight beam danced through the shadows, sweeping slowly. Two figures in black tactical gear. No insignias.

  “Security?” Kai mouthed.

  “Too quiet for rent-a-cops,” she murmured.

  The men advanced methodically, weapons raised. One gestured to the tanks, speaking softly into a mic. The language wasn’t Mandarin. It sounded clipped. Russian, maybe.

  Lian waited for the timing — when their beams crossed. Then she moved. Fast and silent, like water. The first man didn’t even turn before she disarmed him, the butt of her knife cracking against his temple. He dropped. The second swung his rifle around, but Kai fired the dart gun first. The man stiffened, knees buckling, and collapsed beside his partner.

  Kai exhaled shakily. “Remind me to upgrade that thing’s battery.”

  “You did fine,” she said. She crouched, searching the pockets of the unconscious man. “No ID, no dog tags.”

  “Professionals,” Kai said. “They came for cleanup.”

  Lian looked at him. “Then someone already knows we’re here.”

  They dragged the bodies behind a tank and slipped back toward the stairs. When they reached the upper floor, the rain had turned heavier. Lian led the way out through a side door, checking for movement. Nothing but empty streets.

  Kai exhaled and leaned against the wall. “We got what we came for. I copied everything on the local drive.”

  She nodded. “Then we move. We’ll decrypt somewhere safe.”

  The van pulled away, the headlights slicing through the mist.