They did not go home after the hospital.

  They never did after something like that.

  Instead they crossed the harbor on a late ferry and let the wind tear the sterile smell from their clothes. Kai leaned against the railing, eyes half closed, phone dark for once. Lian stood beside him, watching the water break apart under the lights.

  “He saw you,” Kai said finally.

  “Yes.”

  “And you saw him.”

  “Yes.”

  “That is bad.”

  She shrugged. “It is information.”

  Kai snorted. “You turn everything into information.”

  “You turn everything into a feeling,” she replied.

  “Someone has to.”

  They disembarked and walked until the streets narrowed and the noise changed. This side of the city breathed differently. Less money. More truth.

  Kai powered his phone back on. “We have movement,” he said. “Low level LSK courier. Not flashy. Not protected.”

  “Where.”

  “Wan Chai. Old commercial block. He has been there all night.”

  Lian nodded. “Then we work.”

  The building was tired. Concrete stained by rain and time. Windows boarded unevenly like someone had tried to forget it existed.

  They took the stairs. Quiet. Measured. Every step a choice.

  Kai paused on the third floor. “Lian.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are not allowed to freeze tonight.”

  She looked at him. “I do not freeze.”

  “You do when things get personal.”

  “This is not personal,” she said.

  He studied her for a second. “That is a lie.”

  They moved on.

  The courier sat alone in a small office at the end of the hall. Laptop open. Headphones on. He was young. Too young to be this deep into something that would eat him alive.

  Kai slipped behind him and pulled the headphones free.

  “Hey,” the courier said, spinning. “What the hell.”

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  Lian stepped into view.

  Recognition flickered across his face. Not of her. Of what she represented.

  “Please,” he said. “I am just a runner.”

  “We know,” Kai said. “Sit.”

  The courier sat.

  Lian closed the door and leaned against it. “Who do you work for.”

  He swallowed. “You already know.”

  “We know fragments,” she replied. “Fill the gaps.”

  He shook his head. “They will kill me.”

  Kai sighed. “They will replace you.”

  Silence stretched.

  The courier rubbed his face. “I move packages. Data. Samples. Whatever fits in a case. I do not ask questions.”

  “But you see destinations,” Lian said.

  “Yes.”

  “And people.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell us.”

  He hesitated. Then nodded. Names came out. Not important ones. Addresses. Patterns. Small truths that stacked into something heavier.

  Kai recorded everything.

  When it was done the courier slumped. “Are you going to kill me.”

  Lian shook her head. “No.”

  His eyes filled. Relief hit him like a wave.

  “We are not them,” she said.

  Kai cut the restraints. “Leave the city. Tonight.”

  The courier scrambled up and ran without looking back.

  Kai exhaled. “That went well.”

  “It always does until it does not,” she replied.

  They were halfway down the stairs when the lights went out.

  Kai cursed softly. “Power cut.”

  “Planned,” Lian said.

  Footsteps echoed above them. Slow. Confident.

  A woman stepped into the emergency lighting at the top of the stairwell. Dark hair pulled back. Weapon loose in her hand like it was part of her arm.

  “The counter,” Kai whispered.

  “I know,” Lian said.

  The woman smiled. “You move fast.”

  “So do you,” Lian replied.

  They circled each other down the stairs. No rush. No speeches.

  The woman struck first.

  Steel flashed. Lian blocked and felt the impact run up her arm. They moved as mirrors. Strike. Counter. Adjust.

  Kai stayed back. Watching. Ready. Shaking.

  The woman laughed softly. “You hesitate.”

  “I choose,” Lian said.

  That choice cost her a cut across the ribs. Pain bloomed hot and immediate.

  Kai swore. “Lian.”

  “I am fine.”

  The woman pressed harder. Faster. Trained to overwhelm.

  Lian shifted tactics. Closed distance. Took a hit to land one. The woman staggered.

  Kai moved then. Not clean. Not pretty. But effective.

  The woman went down hard. Weapon skidding away.

  She looked up at them. Blood at her mouth. Still smiling.

  “They pay well,” she said.

  “Is that enough,” Kai asked.

  “For some,” the woman replied.

  Lian knelt. “You do not have to do this.”

  The woman’s smile faded just a little. “Neither do you.”

  Lian ended it quickly.

  Silence returned like it had been waiting.

  Kai leaned against the wall and slid down until he was sitting. “I did not want to do that.”

  “You did not,” Lian said.

  “I helped.”

  “Yes.”

  He looked at his hands. “It still counts.”

  She sat beside him. “It always does.”

  They stayed there until his breathing steadied.

  Kai broke the silence. “The doctor is in this world now.”

  “He always was,” Lian said.

  “He just stopped pretending he was not.”