The air inside the safehouse was stale. A fan buzzed weakly from the corner, moving hot air in circles but doing nothing to cool it. Lian sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the table where Kai had spread out their equipment to clean.

  He had a habit of humming when he worked. It wasn’t a tune she recognized — something half-formed, absentminded.

  “You missed a spot,” she said finally.

  Kai looked up, raising a brow. “On the blade or my face?”

  “Both.”

  He smirked and went back to scrubbing the bloodstained edge of the throwing knife with an old rag. “I don’t know how you manage to stay spotless after all that. ”

  “That’s the point,” she said, rubbing her temples. “If they see you coming, it’s already too late.”

  “Yeah, well, they saw me coming.” He put the knife down a little too hard, the metallic clang bouncing through the room. “Those guards weren’t amateurs.”

  Lian didn’t answer. She kept her eyes fixed on the cracked wall opposite her. The fight replayed in her mind, every detail sharp as glass. The way one of the men had shouted, calling her by name before she slit his throat.

  Kai leaned back in his chair. “You ever think maybe we’re not ghosts anymore? Maybe we’ve left too many footprints.”

  Lian tilted her head. “You’re talking too much tonight.”

  He gave a short laugh. “You’re not talking enough.”

  Somewhere outside, a car backfired, and both of them instinctively reached for their guns before realizing it was nothing.

  Kai finally stood, tossing the rag onto the table. “We should get out of this place. It’s been compromised.”

  “Not yet,” Lian said. “The data shard’s still decrypting. I want to know what’s on it before we move.”

  “It could take days,” he said. “And if they’re tracking us—”

  “They aren’t,” she interrupted. “I made sure.”

  Kai frowned. “You said that about the last safehouse.”

  Lian shot him a look sharp enough to cut. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. You win. But next time, I pick the location.”

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  She didn’t argue. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small envelope, sliding it across the table toward him.

  He blinked. “What’s this?”

  “Money,” she said. “For new equipment. And for… that thing you wanted.”

  Kai frowned. “What thing?”

  “The camera.”

  “Oh.” His voice softened. “You remembered.”

  “Don’t make it sentimental,” she said quietly. “It’s for recon. Nothing else.”

  He smiled, but she could tell it meant more to him than that. The camera had been their mother’s. She used to document everything — the world, their childhood, even their father’s experiments. After the fire, the photos were all gone. Kai wanted to start again.

  He tucked the envelope into his jacket. “Thanks.”

  Lian nodded. She didn’t say what she was thinking. She was glad he still found ways to care about small things. It meant he hadn’t turned into her. Not yet.

  An hour later, she stepped out onto the balcony. She leaned against the railing and let the city noise wash over her. For a moment, she could almost pretend they were just two ordinary siblings, living in some cramped apartment, worrying about bills instead of bodies.

  Kai joined her a few minutes later, holding two bottles of cheap beer. He handed her one.

  “You don’t drink,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Then it’s all yours. But you look like you could use it.”

  She took it without protest and twisted off the cap. The first sip burned her throat. She coughed, and he laughed softly.

  “See? You’re out of practice.”

  “I don’t get drunk,” she said.

  “Yeah, because you never try.”

  They stood there, side by side, watching headlights blur across the street below. The air smelled like rain and exhaust.

  Kai spoke again after a long pause. “You think they were after the shard, or after us?”

  Lian’s fingers tightened around the bottle. “Both.”

  “Then we’re out of time.”

  “Not yet,” she said again. “There’s always more time than people think. That’s what makes them careless.”

  Kai gave her a sideways glance. “You sound like you’re quoting someone.”

  She hesitated. “I am.”

  “Who?”

  “Father.”

  He looked at her, and for the first time that night, the tension eased. They didn’t talk about him often. It was easier that way.

  When the decryption alert finally pinged from Kai’s laptop, they both went inside.

  He typed fast, eyes flicking across the screen. “It’s done. The files are open.”

  “What’s in them?”

  “Contracts”

  “Whose?”

  Kai froze. “One of them is local.”

  Lian leaned closer. The name on the file made her stomach tighten.

  A contact from their parents’ old lab. Someone who was supposed to have died years ago.

  Kai looked up at her. “Do we go after him?”

  Lian said nothing. She took a deep breath, then closed the laptop slowly.

  “Not tonight,” she said.

  He nodded, though his eyes still burned with curiosity.

  Lian stood, stretching her arms, feeling the stiffness of the night settle in her bones.