Kai couldn’t shake the strange feeling from the knock earlier. It clung to him like a thin film he kept trying to rub off. He worked through the tower maps anyway, fingers moving over the keyboard with practiced rhythm, but his thoughts kept drifting. Lian noticed every time his attention slipped, but she didn’t comment. She just stayed close, shoulder brushing his every now and then, quiet but grounding.
After an hour, he leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “The tower logs are messy. Whoever used that number knew how to hide their tracks.”
Lian stretched out her legs. “Can you filter by signal strength? Sometimes you can catch a ghost ping around the edges.”
“I tried,” he said. “It’s like someone wiped the edges too.”
She gave a small nod, thinking. “Let’s take a break.”
Kai saved the files and closed the laptop. He slumped against the couch and let out a long breath he’d been holding for too long. Lian stood and walked to the window. The street below them was quiet, just a delivery truck rolling by and a few old shops opening for the day.
“You’re still thinking about the man,” she said.
Kai didn’t deny it. “He knew this building. Or someone told him. It doesn’t make sense.”
“He looked lost,” she replied. “And old.”
“People can pretend.”
“They can,” she agreed, turning toward him again. “But he didn’t move like someone who was pretending. His hands shook.”
Kai wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t argue further. He trusted her instincts even when his fought against them.
They let the room settle again. A faint hum from a neighbor’s fan drifted through the thin wall. Kai watched dust float lazily across the sunlight. The world looked ordinary for a moment in a way that felt surreal.
Out of nowhere, Lian said, “Do you remember when Dad used to bring home those cheap puzzles from the night market?”
Kai blinked at the sudden memory shift but nodded. “He always bought the ones labeled impossible.”
“And Mom tried to hide them because she knew we’d stay up all night,” Lian added.
“She’d get so tired of seeing us hunched over the floor,” Kai said. “But she always ended up helping anyway.”
Lian smiled a little. “She pretended she didn’t care, but she did. She cared about everything.”
He watched the soft expression on her face, something gentle that surfaced only in rare, unwatched moments. It made his chest tighten.
“You okay?” he asked.
She shrugged lightly. “Just thinking. All of this started long before we understood anything. Even the puzzles.”
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Kai let that sit. He didn’t want to drag the mood back into analysis. Instead he nudged her foot lightly with his. “You always cheated anyway.”
She turned sharply toward him. “I did not.”
“You looked at the cover image every time.”
“That’s not cheating,” she insisted. “That’s strategy.”
He laughed. The sound felt good in his throat, like it cleared something heavy.
Lian looked like she might laugh too, but she shook her head instead and walked toward the small safe they kept under the kitchenette counter. She pulled out a thin folder and dropped it onto the couch next to him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“The photos you found weeks ago,” she said. “The ones Mom hid.”
Kai opened the folder slowly. The familiar paper smell hit him. Inside were images printed on aging glossy sheets. Their family at the beach. Their parents at a conference. And one picture he always paused at.
Their mother standing beside a man whose face was partly blurred from motion. Kai didn’t know why this picture made his stomach twist. Maybe it was the way she stood, straight and firm, like she was trying to hide how tired she was.
Lian sat down beside him. “I want to look through these again.”
Kai glanced at her. “Why now?”
“Because we’re missing something,” she said. “Every time we chase another lead, we end up circling back to them. There has to be a reason.”
Kai studied the photos with her. He ran his fingers along the edges, careful not to bend them. “I keep wondering why she hid these. She wasn’t careless.”
“No,” Lian said softly. “She always thought ahead.”
“So she wanted us to find them.”
“Maybe.”
Kai set one of the photos down and leaned back again. “It’s strange. I barely remember the day they died, but I remember her voice so clearly. I remember how she said my name.”
Lian looked down at her hands. “I remember everything.”
He knew she did. It lived in her. She carried every detail like a weight she refused to put down.
“We’re going to get answers,” he said without thinking.
She gave him a small look. “Kai.”
“I know,” he muttered. “I know. I’m just saying.”
She shook her head but didn’t push it.
A sudden burst of horns from the street made them both glance toward the window. A minibus pulled into a space it definitely wasn’t meant for. The driver yelled at someone outside. The city sounded alive again.
Lian stood. “Let’s get some air.”
Kai blinked. “Outside?”
“Just the alley,” she said. “Two minutes. You’re starting to curl into a shrimp.”
He sighed but stood as well. “Fine.”
They walked down the narrow stairwell and into the back alley. A faint smell of steamed noodles and engine oil lingered in the air. Someone upstairs was playing old Cantopop. The scene felt normal, which Kai needed more than he wanted to admit.
Lian took a slow breath. “Better?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Actually, yeah.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder, not talking. The sunlight cut sharply between the two buildings, warming the cracked pavement. Kai watched a stray cat walk by with regal disinterest. Lian watched the sky, though barely any of it was visible from this angle.
Then she said quietly, “We’re close to something. I don’t know what, but it’s pulling us in.”
Kai nodded. “Feels like the kind of thing you get a headache from.”
She smirked lightly. “You already have a headache.”
“A small one.”
She nudged him with her elbow. “Come on. We still have work to do.”
They walked back toward the stairwell. Kai glanced once over his shoulder, not for danger this time but to take in the ordinary alley, the sunlight, the cat. A moment that felt strangely calm after everything.
When they reached the top of the stairs again, Lian opened the door to the safehouse and said simply, “Let’s keep going.”
And they did.
