The ferry ride to Kowloon was nearly empty that night. Lian sat near the back, hood drawn low, watching the black water slap against the side. Kai leaned on the railing a few steps away, his face lit by the faint glow of his phone.
“You ever notice,” he said without looking up, “how the city never actually sleeps? Just changes shifts.”
Lian smiled faintly. “You sound like you’re writing poetry again.”
“Maybe I am,” he said, pocketing the phone. “Not all of us can express ourselves with knives.”
She gave him a side glance. “You’d last five minutes in a fight.”
He grinned. “Three. But I’d make them memorable.”
The banter was easy, lighter than it had been in days. But when they disembarked at the pier, the city’s noise swallowed them again. Street vendors were closing up, steam rising from the last pots of fish balls. Taxis rolled past, horns echoing. It smelled like diesel and wet cardboard.
They walked north through side streets until the glow of Nathan Road faded. Their next safehouse was a cramped flat above a pawn shop in Sham Shui Po. The building was old, the kind with peeling paint and rusted gates that moaned when you opened them.
Lian unlocked the door. Inside, the air was musty but clean enough. She swept the room with a small handheld scanner, checking for bugs or heat signatures. Clear.
Kai dropped his bag by the wall. “Luxury, as always.”
“You can complain after you set up the network,” she said, scanning the kitchen.
He sighed and pulled out his laptop. “One day we’ll stay somewhere with an actual bed.”
“You have the couch.”
“That’s not a bed.”
“Then you can sleep standing up.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m consistent.”
He set up at the small table, fingers flying over the keyboard. “You know, I think I can trace the shipment records from last week. The ports that moved the containers.”
Lian leaned against the counter. “The ones tied to the missing kids?”
“Yeah. There’s a pattern. They were all processed through a shell company—Heng Fa Holdings. Fake registration, but the trail leads back to here. Kowloon side.”
She frowned. “Any name attached?”
“One,” he said. “Yuen Lai.”
She paused. “That name’s familiar.”
“It should be. She used to run the halfway house near Mong Kok. The one that burned down.”
Lian straightened. “That wasn’t an accident.”
“Exactly. I think she went underground. And I think she’s still moving people.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Lian’s voice dropped. “For LSK?”
Kai looked up. “We don’t know that yet. But she’s moving a lot of bodies for someone.”
Lian exhaled through her nose. “Then we find her.”
It took two hours and half a dozen false leads, but by midnight they were standing outside a narrow building near Nam Cheong Street. It looked abandoned—shuttered windows, a broken neon sign half spelling “Hostel.”
Lian pulled her hood up. “Stay outside. If anything feels off, pull the plug.”
Kai shook his head. “No way. You’re not going in alone.”
She gave him a look that said she wasn’t arguing. “Watch the alley. That’s not a request.”
He muttered something under his breath but nodded.
She slipped inside. The air smelled of damp wood and something faintly metallic. Dust floated in the beam of her flashlight. She moved quietly, her boots barely making a sound on the warped floorboards.
The first floor was empty. On the second, she found a makeshift office—old monitors, papers scattered across a desk. A ledger lay open. She flipped through it.
Names. Dates. And beside them, numbers—payments.
She took out her camera and snapped photos. Then a noise stopped her.
Footsteps. Light ones. Coming from the hall.
She turned off the flashlight and waited.
A figure appeared in the doorway—a young woman, no older than twenty, holding a small lamp. Her face was pale, tired. She froze when she saw Lian.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” the girl said quietly.
Lian lowered her weapon but didn’t put it away. “Neither are you.”
The girl hesitated. “You’re looking for Yuen Lai, right?”
Lian’s eyes narrowed. “You know her?”
“I work for her. Used to.”
Lian stepped closer. “Used to?”
The girl nodded, eyes darting toward the stairs. “She left two days ago. Said the police were sniffing around. Took a truck full of people with her.”
“Where?”
The girl swallowed. “I don’t know exactly. Somewhere near the port. She said something about a shipment going out before morning.”
Lian’s grip tightened slightly. “Why are you still here?”
“I couldn’t leave them.” The girl motioned toward the back. “The ones she didn’t take.”
Lian followed her through a narrow corridor. Behind a half-broken door were three children, asleep on thin mats. Their faces were sunken, their arms marked with faint bruises.
Lian crouched beside one of them. “How long have they been here?”
“A week,” the girl whispered. “They were supposed to be on the next transport.”
“Who funds her?”
“I don’t know. But she always talked about ‘the clients.’ She said they paid more if the kids were healthy.”
Lian stood slowly. Her voice softened. “What’s your name?”
“Lena.”
“Why help me?”
The girl hesitated. “Because someone helped me once. I was supposed to be on one of those trucks too.”
Lian looked at her for a moment, then pulled out her comm. “Kai, we’ve got three survivors. Need extraction.”
Kai’s voice crackled through. “I’ll call Mei. She’s ten minutes out.”
“Good. There’s more. A lead on Yuen Lai—possibly at the port.”
“I’ll start tracking shipment logs.”
Lian turned back to Lena. “You stay with them until help arrives. Understand?”
The girl nodded quickly.
Lian moved toward the door, but Lena called after her. “If you find Yuen Lai… don’t just kill her.”
Lian paused, hand on the handle. “Why not?”
“Because she wasn’t always like this.”
For a moment, Lian didn’t respond. Then she said, “None of us were,” and disappeared into the rain.
Outside, Kai met her near the alley, breath misting in the cold air. “Mei’s on her way. She said to keep low.”
“Good. We’re heading to the docks.”
He blinked. “Now?”
“Yes. Before the shipment leaves.”
Kai adjusted his jacket. “You never stop, do you?”
She gave him a small look. “You’d hate me if I did.”
He smiled faintly. “No. I’d just worry less.”
