Lian drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on the window.
Kai sat in the passenger seat, watching the blur of lights fade as they crossed the bridge out of Kowloon. His eyes were tired, but not from lack of sleep.
“Feels weird leaving before the sun’s up,” he said quietly.
Lian didn’t look at him. “Better this way. Fewer eyes.”
He nodded, staring at the side mirror. “Think anyone followed?”
“Not yet. But they will.”
The car hummed softly. He reached for the radio, twisting the dial until static filled the air.
“Do you ever get used to it?” he asked after a moment.
“To what?”
“The running. Packing up every few days. Always looking over your shoulder.”
Lian’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “You stop noticing after a while.”
“That’s not the same as getting used to it.”
“No. It’s not.”
They fell quiet again. Outside, the sky began to lighten. The sea stretched out on their left, calm and gray, the kind of calm that felt temporary.
By the time they reached Sai Kung, the sun had crept above the water. Fishing boats dotted the bay. The air was cleaner here, softer somehow. Lian parked the car near a row of shuttered shops and turned off the engine.
“This’ll do for a few days,” she said.
Kai stepped out and stretched, squinting against the light. “Could almost forget we’re hiding from a global syndicate.”
Lian gave a faint smile. “Almost.”
They found a small guesthouse tucked behind a noodle shop. The owner, an older woman with sharp eyes and soft manners, didn’t ask questions. Cash was enough.
The room smelled faintly of cedar and humidity. Two single beds, one small table, a flickering fan. Lian set her bag down and started unpacking.
Kai wandered to the window. The view overlooked a narrow alley, where laundry hung between balconies like prayer flags. He breathed in slowly.
“Nice change from the city,” he said.
Lian didn’t answer. She was already setting up her weapons on the table, wiping each one clean with mechanical precision.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
After a few minutes, Kai sat on the edge of his bed. “You ever think about stopping?”
Her hands didn’t pause. “No.”
“Not even for a second?”
“Stopping means dying.”
He leaned back against the wall. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
He studied her. The morning light caught her face, the small scar near her jaw, the faint shadow under her eyes. She looked human again, not the ghost that haunted Hong Kong nights.
“You don’t have to do this forever,” he said softly.
She finally looked at him. “And do what instead?”
He hesitated. “Live. Something normal.”
She almost laughed, but it came out more like a breath. “Normal doesn’t want people like us.”
Kai opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. There wasn’t much to say.
He turned back to the window. Outside, a child was chasing a plastic ball down the alley. A man was hanging a cage of birds by his shop door. Life moved on, unaware of the two killers hiding above.
After a while, Lian stood and stretched. “I’m going to get supplies.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No. You stay here. Get some rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look like hell.”
He smiled faintly. “You too.”
She didn’t argue. “Lock the door behind me.”
When she left, Kai sat on the floor beside the bed, pulling out his laptop. The familiar hum steadied him. He connected to the encrypted network, fingers moving out of habit. He searched for any chatter, any hint that LSK had noticed the fixer’s death.
Half an hour passed. Nothing concrete. Just noise. Then, one small piece of data caught his attention — a police report from Mong Kok, timestamped two hours after they left. An unnamed male, mid-forties, found dead. The note at the bottom said the case was being handled by a “special task unit.”
Kai frowned. That wasn’t normal. He leaned closer, tracing the data path, trying to see who had requested the file. The signature was buried deep in the code, but he knew that structure. He’d seen it before.
By the time Lian returned, arms full of groceries, Kai was still at the desk. She looked at the screen and frowned. “What did you find?”
He pointed. “Police report on the fixer. They’re covering it up. LSK’s pulling strings already.”
Lian set the bags down and scanned the page. “Then we move faster.”
“Move where?”
“Wherever the next link leads.”
He hesitated. “You really think there’s a trail left after this?”
“There always is. Someone always wants something.”
Kai leaned back in his chair. “I checked the fixer’s financials. There’s a transfer record from an offshore account. Big one. Enough to buy silence.”
“Can you trace it?”
“Trying. Might take a day or two.”
“Make it one.”
She started unpacking the groceries. A few noodles, some canned soup, a small box of matches. He watched her work, quiet for a moment.
“You know,” he said, “for someone who doesn’t plan on staying, you always buy like you’re settling in.”
She glanced at him. “Old habit.”
“From before?”
“From when we still thought we had a home.”
The words hung there, fragile and heavy.
Kai looked away first. “I’ll finish the trace tonight.”
“Good. We’ll need to move again soon.”
He nodded, though neither of them wanted to think about where that meant.
