The city looked different after blood had been spilled. Kai always noticed it more than Lian. The streets smelled the same, but for him it was never quite the same. He kept replaying the faces of the children as they climbed into the van, silent and pale. The smallest boy had clutched his sister’s sleeve as if letting go would kill him. Kai saw it every time he blinked.

  He followed Lian through the crowd, the hood of his jacket up, tablet tucked tight under his arm. She walked like nothing had happened, like they were just another pair moving through the city’s noise. Her shoulders were straight, her pace unhurried, her gaze forward. If anyone looked closely enough they might notice the faint smudge of blood at the edge of her sleeve, but no one in Mong Kok wanted to look too closely at anything.

  “You good?” he asked as they crossed a street thick with steam from food stalls.

  “I am fine,” she said without turning.

  “Fine as in fine, or fine as in don’t talk to me about it?”

  She finally glanced at him. “Fine as in I am not the one replaying faces.”

  That cut deeper than he wanted to admit. He let out a long breath and shoved his free hand into his pocket. “They were kids. I am allowed to replay faces.”

  “They are alive,” she said. “That is all that matters.”

  Kai wanted to argue but knew better. She had always been like this. Dead or alive. Saved or gone. There was no in-between for her. For him the in-between was the hardest part.

  They ducked into a narrow stairwell between two shuttered shops and climbed to the second floor, where a rusted door waited. Kai pulled a key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock. Inside was their current safehouse, if one could call it that. A single room apartment with peeling paint, two thin mattresses on the floor, and a table buried in laptops, wires, and small stacks of weapons. The air smelled faintly of mold.

  Lian stepped inside first, pulling her jacket off and hanging it on the back of a chair. She moved immediately to the small sink in the corner, turning the water on and washing her hands and forearms until the blood was gone. Kai dropped his tablet onto the table and began pulling up the feeds again.

  “We cut off Lau Kin Wah tonight,” he said as screens lit up. “But he was a branch, not the root. I tracked one of his numbers during the raid. Whoever he was calling has ties in Yuen Long. I picked up chatter about another shipment moving soon.”

  Lian dried her hands with a towel, her face unreadable. “How soon.”

  “Forty-eight hours. Maybe less.”

  “Where.”

  “Warehouse near the abandoned textile factories. Security will be heavier. Lau’s death will make them nervous.”

  Lian sat down across from him, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “How many children.”

  “From the traffic logs I intercepted, at least twenty. Maybe thirty.”

  Her eyes sharpened. “Then we move tomorrow night.”

  Kai rubbed at his forehead. “We just came off one. You do not want to watch them first? Learn their patterns before we charge in?”

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  Her voice was steady. “Waiting means more will be moved.”

  “And rushing means we get shot to pieces.” He pushed the screen toward her. “Look. Their setup is bigger than Lau’s. They have cameras on every entrance, drones covering the roof, and three exits guarded around the clock. This is not the same sloppy crew. We need to know their shift changes, blind spots, radio codes. Otherwise we walk into a firing line.”

  Lian studied the maps on the screen. Her jaw worked once. She hated waiting. But she also trusted her brother’s eyes more than her own.

  “One night,” she said finally. “We will watch tonight. We will move tomorrow.”

  Kai let out a small sigh of relief. “Deal.”

  They ate instant noodles in silence. Kai slurped his too quickly and burned his tongue. When they finished, she stretched out on one mattress, knife within reach, and closed her eyes.

  Kai sat at the table long after, screens glowing against his tired face. Each time he found another line connecting back to a name he added it to their list. The kill list was growing faster than he liked.

  By dawn his eyes felt like sandpaper. He rubbed them and turned to see Lian already awake, sitting cross-legged on the mattress, sharpening her blades with steady strokes. The sound of metal on stone filled the room.

  “You slept?” she asked without looking.

  “A little.”

  “Liar.”

  He chuckled weakly. “You would make a terrible therapist.”

  She slid the knife back into its sheath. “I would make a perfect one. I do not waste words.”

  They set out again after dusk. The train ride to Yuen Long was long enough for Kai to nap against the window while Lian kept watch. When they arrived the air smelled different, less of neon and grease, more of damp earth and abandoned industry. The old textile factories loomed like skeletons, broken windows staring out over empty lots.

  They moved quietly, staying low, using alleys and fences for cover. Kai carried a small drone in his backpack, no bigger than his palm. When they reached a vantage point on a rooftop overlooking the warehouse, he sent it up. The drone buzzed softly as it rose, camera feed streaming back to his tablet.

  “There are six guards outside,” Kai whispered. “Two at the main gate, two by the side exit, two patrolling the lot. Drones circling the roof every three minutes. Inside looks like a holding area with cages. I count at least fifteen kids visible. Could be more in the back rooms.”

  Lian crouched beside him, eyes on the warehouse below. “Weapons.”

  “Assault rifles, sidearms. Same model across the board. Someone supplied them well.”

  She nodded once. “We will go in from the roof tomorrow.”

  “Not unless we knock their drones out first,” Kai said. “Otherwise they will see you before you even touch the building.”

  “I can move faster than their cameras.”

  “Not faster than a drone with infrared.” He tapped the screen. “Let me handle that part.”

  She did not argue.

  They spent the next hour watching patterns. One guard smoked every twenty minutes like clockwork. Another kept disappearing inside, probably to sneak drinks. The side gate was opened three times for deliveries. Each drone circled the same path without variation.

  “Sloppy programming,” Kai muttered. “I can slip a loop into their signal. Make them think they are flying normal while I cut their feed.”

  “When can you do it.”

  “Tomorrow morning. By night we will have an open sky.”

  Lian rose to her feet, pulling her hood tighter. “Then tomorrow night we cut them open.”

  They left the rooftop the same way they came. On the train back Kai leaned his head against the glass, eyes half-closed. Lian sat across from him, staring out at the blur of lights.

  “You never asked me if I feel anything after nights like last night,” she said suddenly.

  Kai opened his eyes. “Do you?”

  She held his gaze. “I feel enough. But not too much. That is why we survive.”

  He did not answer. He knew she was right.

  Back at the safehouse he worked on the drone loops, typing until his fingers cramped. Lian cleaned the pistols and checked the magazines.

  By the time night came again the plan was set. Kai had control of the sky. Lian had sharpened her blades to surgical precision.

  And together they were ready to cut.