Kai did not talk much on the way back. He sat in the passenger seat with his hood pulled low and his fingers tapping erratically against his knee. Lian kept glancing at him, just to make sure he was really breathing evenly. It had been only a few hours since he killed that man, and the weight of it clung to the air around him like humidity before a storm.

  Kai finally said, “You do not have to keep looking at me like that.”

  Lian kept her hands on the steering wheel. “I am not looking at you like anything.”

  “You are looking at me like you expect me to crack open and start screaming.”

  “Are you planning to?”

  “No,” he said. “But you keep waiting for it.”

  Lian sighed softly. She turned down a narrow street where the neon lights bled against the windshield. “You are allowed to feel whatever comes up. It does not make you weak.”

  Kai leaned his head back and stared at the roof. “It just feels strange. I thought I would feel something else. Guilt or regret or something sharp. But it feels more like I hit a button on a keyboard. Like my hands moved before I had time to think.”

  Lian understood that better than she wanted to admit. “Sometimes your mind protects you. It goes quiet when it needs to. It will catch up eventually.” She paused. “And that is when it will hurt.”

  Kai did not answer. He just pressed his lips together and watched the passing streetlights.

  They reached the safe flat on Temple Street. It was not their main place but they switched often enough that it stayed clean and untouched. Lian unlocked the door, made a quick sweep out of habit, and then nodded for him to go in.

  Kai kicked off his shoes and threw himself onto the worn sofa. “I know you want to talk about it more,” he said without looking at her. “You always do.”

  “I want to see if you can sleep first,” she replied.

  Kai let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Sleep. Right. Sure.”

  Lian dropped her bag, moved into the tiny kitchenette, and filled a glass of water. She handed it to him, then sat down across from him in the old armchair that sagged in the middle. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  “You should eat.”

  “I said no.”

  “You have to keep your blood sugar stable. You burned through a lot of adrenaline.”

  He groaned. “Lian, please. Not tonight.”

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  Lian stayed quiet for a moment. Then she stood, walked back into the kitchen, and pulled out a packet of instant noodles. She put the pot on the stove and turned on the flame.

  Kai mumbled, “You are going to make it anyway, aren’t you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I am not eating.”

  “You can decide that after I put it in front of you.”

  Kai rolled onto his side and put his arm over his eyes, as if the conversation itself was too bright. Lian cooked quietly, letting the simple domestic sounds settle between them. The steam smelled familiar. They had eaten noodles like this after their first mission together. And after the night they nearly died in a Kowloon alley. And after the night they found the old photo under their mother’s floorboard.

  Food was their truce.

  She carried the bowl over and set it on the coffee table in front of him. Kai let his arm fall and stared at it. Then he picked up the chopsticks and took a small bite. “Happy.”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head, but his shoulders dropped a bit. “I still do not feel anything,” he murmured. “It is like I keep waiting for the guilt to show up. It would almost be easier if it did.”

  “It will come when it wants,” Lian said. “And if it does not, that is also something we will deal with.”

  Kai ate slowly, each bite more mechanical than the last. When he finished, he set the bowl aside and hugged a pillow to his chest. “Do you ever regret your first kill?”

  Lian paused. The question hung between them in a heavy and unsteady way. She sat on the edge of the armchair and met his eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I still think about it. Sometimes I do not remember it at all. And sometimes I wish it felt different than it does.”

  Kai studied her face. He always read her too well. “So it never goes away.”

  “It changes. That is the best way I can put it.”

  He breathed out again, slower this time. “I do not want to turn into someone who does not feel anything.”

  “You will not,” Lian said. “That is not who you are.”

  He did not respond, but he did not argue either. His eyes softened, and that was good enough.

  A knock at the door made both of them sit up straight. Lian moved first, fluid and quiet, positioning herself beside the wall. Kai reached under the sofa for the knife he tucked there earlier. His hands trembled, but he held it with purpose.

  Lian signaled him to stay still. She approached the peephole and checked.

  Then she relaxed.

  “It is just Mei,” she said, opening the door.

  Mei stepped inside quickly, brushing her hair out of her face. “Your neighbors are loud. I nearly punched someone in the hallway.”

  Kai dropped back onto the sofa. “Nice to see you too.”

  Mei gave him a long look. She noticed everything, even when she did not comment on it. She sat on the armrest beside him and asked, “How are you?”

  Kai shrugged. “Fine.”

  “He is not fine,” Lian said.

  Kai glared at her. “Seriously.”

  Mei reached over and flicked his forehead. “You look like a haunted noodle.”

  Kai blinked. “That is offensive and confusing.”

  “Good. Keeps you distracted.” She folded her arms. “Lian told me what happened.”

  Kai stiffened. “She told you already.”

  “She tells me things that matter.” Mei’s voice softened. “You went through something rough. You are not supposed to act normal.”

  Kai stared at the floor again. “I did what I had to do.”

  “And that is why it hurts,” Mei said. “Because it was real.”

  Lian watched the exchange quietly. Mei always spoke to Kai differently. Not like he was breakable but like he was understandable.

  Kai let his head drop to Mei’s shoulder. She did not push him away.