The tram ride back was quiet. Lian watched the city slide by in rippled reflections on the window. Kai had his earbuds in, pretending to listen to music, though she could tell his mind was somewhere else.
When they reached the apartment, it already felt emptier than before. Lian opened the door and walked straight to the table where the laptop had been. She unplugged it and slipped it into a padded case.
“We shouldn’t stay long,” she said.
Kai dropped his backpack near the couch. “We just got here.”
She looked at him. “Exactly.”
He sighed, brushing wet hair off his forehead. “You ever think maybe running isn’t the only option?”
Lian didn’t answer. She moved through the apartment in silence, checking corners, wiping prints, making sure nothing traceable remained. She always did this after they moved. It was ritual by now, almost calming.
Kai leaned against the wall, watching her. “You’re not even curious who sent that trace last night?”
“I’m curious,” she said. “I’m not reckless.”
“You think I am?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “You stayed up all night digging through encrypted data after I told you not to. What do you think?”
He frowned. “I just wanted answers.”
“Answers get people killed,” she said simply.
He kicked lightly at the floor, eyes darkening. “Maybe we’re already dead, just walking around pretending we’re not.”
Lian stopped cleaning. The words hung there, raw and unguarded. She looked at him for a long moment, then said quietly, “Don’t talk like that.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are,” she said, voice even. “That’s the problem.”
She went back to packing. He let out a slow breath, pushing away from the wall. “You always do this. You shut down every time I try to talk about them.”
“Because talking doesn’t change what happened.”
“It helps me remember.”
Lian zipped up a small duffel. “You don’t need help remembering.”
“Maybe you do.”
Her hands paused on the zipper. For a second she looked like she might say something, but instead she stood and walked into the kitchen. The small space filled with the soft sound of water as she rinsed the mugs again, though they were already clean.
Kai sat down at the table, rubbing his temples. “You ever think they wanted more for us than this?”
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
She turned off the tap. “They wanted us alive. That’s enough.”
“That’s not living.”
Lian dried her hands and leaned against the counter. Her face was calm, unreadable. “Then you figure out what is.”
Kai looked up at her, but she didn’t meet his eyes. After a while he gave up and stood, walking toward the balcony.
The door stuck for a second before opening. The city air was heavy and damp, carrying the smell of rain and fried noodles from a nearby stall. From inside, he heard the sound of drawers closing. Lian was moving efficiently, packing the bare essentials. She never kept photos. Never souvenirs. Every place they stayed looked like it belonged to someone passing through.
He took out a small item from his pocket. It was a flash drive, silver and worn around the edges. Not the one they had sunk at the pier. A different one.
He turned it over in his hand, thumb brushing the faded surface. He’d made a copy of a small part of the data before she woke up that morning. He hadn’t even looked at it yet. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Maybe because he didn’t want to forget what their parents died for. Maybe because he didn’t trust anyone—not even her—to decide what parts of the truth should survive.
Behind him, Lian spoke. “We’ll leave in an hour. Ferry to Kowloon. After that, we find a new base.”
He pocketed the drive and turned back inside. “What about our contacts? You think any of them can help?”
She shook her head. “Too risky. Everyone has someone listening.”
“Then what’s the point of any of this?”
She gave him a small look. “You tell me.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You ever get tired of being right?”
“Only when it costs too much,” she said softly.
They worked in silence after that. Lian packed the weapons case, checking each piece with mechanical precision. Kai organized the burner phones and switched out SIM cards. The rhythm of it almost felt normal.
When everything was ready, Lian sat on the edge of the couch and laced her boots. Kai sat across from her, arms resting on his knees.
“You still think about him?” he asked suddenly.
She looked up. “Who?”
“The doctor.”
Her eyes flickered once, then steadied. “Not the way you mean.”
“What way do I mean?”
“You think I miss him,” she said.
“Do you?”
“No.” She looked down at her boots again. “I miss who I thought he was.”
Kai leaned back. “He helped once. Before everything changed.”
“People always help before they hurt you.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s dark.”
“It’s true.”
He studied her face for a while. She looked calm, but her hands had stilled for just a second before tightening the last lace. He saw that and said nothing.
Outside, the rain started to fall harder. It drummed softly on the railing.
Lian stood and slung the bag over her shoulder. “We should go.”
Kai hesitated. “You ever wish we could just stop? Not for a mission. Just stop everything?”
She walked to the door. “That’s not who we are.”
He followed her out, locking the door behind them even though it didn’t matter. The hallway was narrow and quiet. Their footsteps echoed as they moved toward the elevator.
Inside the lift, Kai looked at her reflection in the mirror panel. “You ever wonder what’s next?”
Lian’s reflection looked back at him. “No. I just deal with what’s now.”
The elevator chimed, and the doors opened.
They stepped out into the wet night. The city hummed around them—traffic, chatter, the hiss of tires on slick pavement. Lian adjusted the strap on her bag and started walking toward the station.
Kai walked beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
Neither of them said anything for a long time. The rain kept falling, washing the streets clean of the day that had already passed.
