Kai leaned against the rusting railing of a fire escape, a tablet balanced on his knees, his eyes darting between the streams of grainy camera feeds. He had tapped into four different street cameras already, plus one private security feed that watched over the back of a noodle shop. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as lines of code scrolled slowly across the screen.

  “The third van had just pulled in,” Kai muttered into the earpiece.

  Lian’s voice came back calm, almost bored. “Same model as the others?”

  “White Toyota HiAce. Same as always.”

  “People in or people out?” she asked.

  Kai leaned closer to the screen. The camera caught the blur of shapes being herded into the warehouse. He froze the frame, enhanced, then cursed under his breath.

  “Kids,” he said. “At least ten. Maybe more. No older than fifteen.”

  Kai swallowed hard. He adjusted his earpiece, typing furiously, tracing signals, checking whether the building’s internal systems were wired into anything he could use. He found the alarm line almost immediately and disabled it. The cameras inside were older models, easy to blind. The guards, though, those he could not erase.

  “Counting fifteen men on rotation,” Kai reported. “Guns visible on six. Others are probably carrying. One office upstairs with reinforced glass. I’m guessing the boss sits there.”

  “Names?”

  “Not yet.”

  The line went quiet again. Kai knew what that meant. She was moving. He glanced up from the screens and scanned the alley across from the warehouse. For a moment nothing stirred, then a figure flowed out from behind a dumpster, crouched low, hood drawn up. To anyone else it would look like a homeless woman scuttling for shelter. Kai knew better.

  Lian slid across the ground like water, pressed herself to the warehouse wall, and tested the first door handle. Locked.

  She tilted her head up slightly, speaking into the throat mic. “You’ve got me?”

  “Always,” Kai replied.

  “Then keep your eyes open.”

  She slipped a thin blade between the lock and frame, jimmied twice, and eased the door open just wide enough to slide through. The camera feed inside flickered. Kai keyed in a command, cutting the angle so that anyone monitoring would only see empty hallways.

  Inside, the smell was worse. Sweat, damp wood, cheap perfume, and the faint metallic bite of blood. Lian moved silently through the corridor, checking each corner before she turned. Voices carried from the main floor. Men laughing, a bottle clinking, the shuffle of boots on concrete. She crouched behind a stack of crates and peered through a gap.

  There they were. Children lined up like merchandise. Some stood with eyes hollow, others crouched on the floor, arms around their knees. A guard smoked nearby, lazily holding an automatic rifle as if he could not be bothered to use it. On the far side of the room a man in a sharp suit paced with a phone pressed to his ear.

  “Boss,” Kai whispered, confirming what she saw. “That’s him. Lau Kin Wah. Former dock supervisor. He got fired three years ago for corruption. Moved into imports, then trafficking. Been on our list since last year.”

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  She moved along the crates, silent, calculating the rhythm of the guards’ patrols. Kai’s voice followed her in her ear, giving angles, timing and blind spots. She slid closer, closer, until she could almost feel the warmth of the guards as they passed. Her hand closed on the hilt of her blade.

  The first kill was fast. She rose as the guard turned his head, one hand covering his mouth, the other slicing clean across his throat. He went down without a sound. She caught the body, lowered it gently, then pulled the knife free. A second guard noticed too late. Her blade went under his ribs, angled upward, and his breath died before his cry could escape.

  “Kai,” she murmured.

  “Two down. Eleven to go.”

  The floor erupted into motion. A child let out a gasp, another began to cry, and suddenly all the guards were alert. Lian ducked behind cover as bullets tore into the crates.

  “Kai,” she snapped.

  “I’ve got it,” he said. He hit three keys and the lights went out. Complete darkness swallowed the room. Only Kai’s screens still glowed.

  “Go,” he whispered.

  Lian moved like a phantom through the black. The guards fired wildly, muzzle flashes lighting the chaos. She used the light against them, striking from the dark, her knife catching throats and spines, her body weaving through the storm. Each movement was efficient, precise, brutal. The children huddled together, covering their ears, too terrified to scream.

  One guard grabbed a boy by the arm, pressing a gun to his head. “Stop or the kid dies!” he shouted into the dark.

  Lian froze. Kai’s voice came tight. “Three meters left of you. He’s blind in the dark. You have two seconds.”

  Lian exhaled once and flicked her wrist. The knife flew, spinning through the air, embedding itself in the man’s neck. He dropped instantly, the boy stumbling free.

  “Nice throw,” Kai said.

  “Not done yet,” she replied.

  By the time the lights flickered back on, the floor was slick with blood. Bodies sprawled across the concrete, weapons clattering uselessly beside them. Only Lau Kin Wah remained, barricaded behind the glass office upstairs, screaming into his phone for backup.

  Lian glanced up, calculating. “How thick is that glass?”

  “Reinforced, probably bulletproof. But not knife proof if you get close enough.”

  “Then open his door for me.”

  Kai hacked quickly, fingers flying. The upstairs lock disengaged with a soft click. Lian bounded up the stairs two at a time, boot slamming into the office door. Lau stumbled back, dropping his phone.

  “Please,” he stammered. “I can pay you. I can give you anything you want.”

  Lian’s eyes were flat. “Give me their names. The men you sell them to.”

  “I cannot. They will kill me.”

  “You are already dead,” she said.

  Her blade flashed once. The office went silent.

  Downstairs Kai’s voice crackled again. “Police scanners picking up movement. We have five minutes before the sirens.”

  “Understood,” Lian replied. She turned and called out to the children, her voice softer now. “Follow me.”

  They hesitated, wide-eyed, trembling. She holstered her knife, lowered her hood, and extended her hand. “You are safe now. Come.”

  One girl, maybe twelve, stepped forward, clutching her little brother’s hand. Slowly the others followed. Lian led them down the stairs, through the blood and silence, out the side door Kai had unlocked earlier.

  Kai was waiting in the alley, backpack slung over his shoulder, tablet dark. He took one look at the children and his expression hardened. “We cannot keep them,” he said.

  “No,” Lian answered. “But we can give them a chance.”

  They guided the children through back streets until they reached the edge of the district. There, an unmarked van waited, engine idling. The driver was an older woman with silver hair. She opened the door without a word.

  “They will be safe,” she said simply.

  Lian nodded once, ushering the children inside. The door slid shut, the van pulled away, and just like that the night swallowed them.

  Only then did Lian allow herself to breathe. She wiped the blood from her blade, slid it back into its sheath, and looked at her brother. “One nest down,” she said.

  Kai rubbed at his temples. “And ten more waiting.”