The warehouse loomed in Kai’s mind long after they returned to the safehouse. He kept replaying small details. The fact that no one came or went even once.
He sat at his desk, scrolling through footage he collected with his shirt camera during their walk. He zoomed in on the cameras mounted above the corner. They weren’t decorative. Someone invested in the place.
Lian walked in with towels around her hand. “Hot kettle,” she muttered. “I hate that old thing.”
Kai didn’t look away from the footage. “You okay?”
“Just steam burns,” she said and waved her hand like it was nothing. Then she leaned over his shoulder. “Anything useful?”
“Not yet. I’m trying to see if the lenses are motion-based or full-time recording.”
Lian bent closer, squinting. “And?”
He scrubbed through several frames. “Full-time. The LEDs pulse on a timed interval.”
She hummed under her breath. “Someone is watching it closely then.”
Kai sat back. “Why would LSK use a warehouse like that?”
“Could be temporary storage,” Lian said.
“For what?”
She shrugged. “Anything. Evidence. People. Money. It doesn’t matter until we check inside.”
Kai exhaled. “I hate the waiting.”
“I know. But we do it anyway.”
He smiled a little. “You always find a way to make waiting sound like a life philosophy.”
She tapped his chair lightly. “It is. Waiting keeps people alive.”
He didn’t argue.
Outside, rain began tapping against the window. Kai’s eyes drifted toward it for a moment, following the trickle of water as it slid down the frame. He felt restless. His leg bounced under the table, and he caught himself doing it.
Lian noticed. She didn’t say anything at first. She just walked to the kitchen, grabbed two mugs, and poured hot tea into them. She returned and set one beside him.
“Drink,” she said.
He wrapped his hands around the mug. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
Kai took a sip. Her tea always tasted the same. Strong. No sugar. Grounding. He felt the warmth hit his stomach first, then spread upward.
Lian sat across from him on the couch. “Do you want to talk about anything? Or do you want to work?”
Kai hesitated. “Work keeps me from thinking too much.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to do with the feeling. I’m not used to it. When I killed… when it happened… it wasn’t like the training simulations. He begged.”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Lian listened quietly.
“I know why we do this. And I don’t regret the choice. But I don’t know how to shut off the part that keeps replaying it.”
“You don’t,” Lian said. “You just learn to move with it differently.”
“That sounds vague.”
“I don’t know how else to say it,” she admitted. “I saw things young. Too young. And I learned how to hold them without letting them drown me. But I can’t teach that. You’ll figure out your own version.”
Kai nodded, but he wasn’t sure he believed her yet.
They spent the next hour combing through data on the warehouse. Property reports. Shipping records. Local police activity. Most of it led nowhere.
Around three in the afternoon, Kai stretched and stood. His back cracked loudly.
Lian smirked. “You’re getting old.”
“I’m twenty,” Kai groaned.
“Exactly.”
He flicked a pencil at her. She dodged it effortlessly.
They were settling back into work when Kai’s alert software chimed softly. He frowned and pulled up the notification. It wasn’t from their surveillance. It was from one of his darknet monitoring channels.
“Someone new arrived in the city,” Kai said.
Lian looked up immediately. “Who?”
He clicked open the data. “Female. Alias: Jiehua Liang.”
Lian’s brow furrowed. “Why is that significant?”
“Because the boards call her a freelancer,” Kai said. “And they say she never takes public contracts. Only private ones.”
“That could be anyone.”
“Maybe,” Kai said. “But her arrival timestamp matches closely with two encrypted messages we intercepted last week from LSK’s internal channels. They mentioned a visitor.”
Lian leaned forward a little. “Visitor could mean anything.”
“Yeah,” Kai said, “but they only use that term for specialists. People they don’t want to name openly.”
He filtered the new data, scanning for more. Nothing came up except a short note from an anonymous user saying Jiehua Liang was reliable, fast, and preferred to work alone.
Lian leaned back into the couch. “We can’t chase shadows.”
“I know,” Kai said. “It just feels odd. LSK doesn’t bring freelancers unless they want something handled clean.”
Lian didn’t respond right away. She stood and walked to the window. She watched the rain hitting the street, watched a passing tram rattle by.
Kai asked, “You think she might be connected to the warehouse?”
“I don’t know,” Lian said. “But if she is, she won’t make it obvious.”
Kai rubbed his face. “Should we try to track her?”
“We don’t even know what she looks like.”
“We can still trace her entry record. Airport. Ferry terminals. Train crossings.”
“That only helps if she used her own name.”
Kai smirked. “That’s what the other fifteen databases are for.”
Lian gave him a look. “Eat dinner first.”
“You are obsessed with meals today.”
She shrugged, turning from the window. “Keeping you alive is tiring.”
Kai tried to suppress a smile. She always said things like that in the flattest voice possible, but he knew what she meant.
Before either of them could move toward the kitchen, Kai’s tablet vibrated again. He reached for it and frowned.
“What is it now?” Lian asked.
“A security ping,” Kai said. “Not from our network. From the warehouse cameras.”
Lian’s posture sharpened. “Someone is inside?”
“No,” Kai said. “Someone approached. The feed reset for six seconds.”
“Reset as in malfunction?” she asked.
“Reset as in someone tampered with it.”
Lian walked to the table. “Show me.”
Kai pulled up the image log. A static burst. A blank frame. Then the camera returning to normal.
But the timing was deliberate.
Kai’s voice was quiet. “Whoever did that knew exactly how to blind the system without breaking it.”
Lian studied the screen. “She is already here,” she said, almost to herself.
Kai looked at her. “You think it’s the freelancer?”
“I think whoever touched that camera moves like someone who knows the rules of the game.” She straightened. “Tonight. We go back.”
Kai nodded.
Neither said the rest aloud.
Someone else was already circling their investigation.
Someone skilled.
