Kai dropped his duffel bag by the couch, then looked around. “You really think no one remembers this place?”
“They would have to remember me first,” Lian said.
He smiled faintly. “It's hard to forget you.”
She ignored that, walking the perimeter like she always did—checking for microphones, cameras, anything off. Kai watched her for a moment, then pulled the new rig out of his bag. Lok had come through. It wasn’t pretty, but it was powerful enough to dig through any encryption they had seen so far.
He set it on the small table by the wall. “This should work. Lok said it could crack almost anything if we let it run long enough.”
“Almost anything,” Lian repeated, leaning against the counter. “What’s the risk?”
“If it’s booby-trapped code, it could fry the system or trace the signal. But I’ll keep it air-gapped.”
Lian nodded. “Then do it.”
He started the decryption program, lines of code flickering across the screen like rain in fast motion. It was hypnotic in a strange way.
“You should sleep,” he said quietly, not looking at her.
“I’ll sleep when you’re done.”
Kai exhaled, smiling a little. “You always say that.”
“And I always mean it.”
Hours passed. Kai stretched and checked the progress bar. “Seventy percent. Not bad.”
Lian had been sitting by the window for the past hour, her gaze on the street. “Anyone follow you after you left Lok’s place?”
“No. Or if they did, I lost them by Tai Hang Road.”
“Good.” She paused, then said, “That woman—what did you see in her eyes?”
He looked up. “What kind of question is that?”
“Answer it.”
Kai thought for a moment. “She wasn’t scared. Most people, when they walk into a place like that, they show something. Fear, curiosity, hesitation. She had none of that.”
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“Professional,” Lian murmured.
“Maybe. Or she just wanted us to think that.”
Lian’s fingers tapped the table lightly, a rhythm that betrayed her unease. “If she’s with LSK, she’ll come again.”
“Then we’ll be ready.”
By midnight, the program beeped. Kai leaned closer. “Got something.”
Lian moved behind him, eyes scanning the screen. The decrypted files opened one by one: contracts, payment logs, routing codes, and names. Dozens of names.
Kai clicked through them, brow furrowing. “These aren’t just traffickers or fixers. Some are officials. Customs, police, even a few corporate types.”
“Corruption network,” Lian said softly.
“More than that. Look here—coded entries labeled ‘LSK Subset 3.’ And each one tied to a single handler ID.”
She bent closer. “Whose ID?”
Kai enlarged the entry. A string of letters and numbers resolved into a name.
- Han.
Lian’s face didn’t move, but Kai saw the recognition hit her like a slow wave.
“You know him,” he said.
She hesitated, just for a breath. “He used to be on the task force investigating the trafficking ring. Back when our parents were still alive.”
Kai frowned. “He was law enforcement?”
“Was. Until he disappeared.”
“And now his name’s in an LSK file.”
Lian straightened, silent. Her hand drifted toward her gun without thinking, as if instinct alone could make the decision for her.
Kai closed the laptop gently. “We should verify first. Maybe it’s someone else using his ID.”
She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe that for a second. But she didn’t argue.
Instead, she walked to the sink and filled two glasses with water. When she handed him one, she said quietly, “You did good.”
Kai blinked. Compliments from her were rare. “Thanks. Though I think I just ruined our chances at a calm night.”
“There are no calm nights,” she said.
They sat in silence for a while. The hum of the computer was the only sound.
Finally, Kai said, “You used to talk about Han sometimes. Said he was one of the good ones.”
“He was,” she said simply. “Or he pretended well.”
“You think he knew about LSK back then?”
Lian’s eyes lowered. “If he did, it means our parents trusted the wrong people.”
Later, when the computer was shut down and the lights dimmed, Kai lay on the couch, unable to sleep. Lian sat near the window again, a dark silhouette against the faint glow of streetlights.
He watched her quietly. “You ever miss the old life?”
“What old life?” she asked, not turning.
“The one before all this. Before missions, before lists.”
Her answer came after a long pause. “No. That life died with them.”
Kai didn’t push further. He knew what she meant, and he also knew that somewhere deep down, she didn’t fully believe it.
Your file pinged. Someone else tried to access the same data.
He stared at the words, then looked toward Lian.
She was already standing. She hadn’t even needed to read it to know.
“Pack up,” she said quietly. “We move again.”