They did not sleep much.

  Kai sat at the small kitchen table surrounded by printouts. He liked it when things got complicated.

  Lian leaned against the counter with a cup of instant coffee she had no intention of finishing.

  “You are staring,” Kai said.

  “I am thinking.”

  “That is worse.”

  She smiled faintly. “Show me what you have.”

  Kai slid a folder across the table. “Clinic approvals from the last eighteen months. Every time a private facility got fast tracked for experimental trials. Same foundation funding them. Same oversight board.”

  “And him,” Lian said.

  “Yes.”

  She opened the folder. There it was again. His signature.

  “It could be administrative,” she said.

  Kai did not look up. “You do not sign off on things like this unless you are involved. Even I know that.”

  “You also break into servers for fun.”

  “For work,” he corrected. “Mostly.”

  Lian traced the ink with her finger. “He used to hate paperwork.”

  “People change.”

  She looked at Kai sharply. “You keep saying that.”

  “Because it is true.”

  Silence settled again.

  Kai pushed his chair back. “Look. I am not saying he is the devil. I am saying he is standing very close to a fire and acting surprised that it is hot.”

  Lian exhaled. “He saved lives.”

  “So do we,” Kai said. “In our own way.”

  She laughed quietly. “You would make a terrible doctor.”

  “I hate blood,” he replied. “That alone disqualifies me.”

  Lian set the folder down. “What else.”

  Kai pulled up his tablet and turned the screen toward her. “Shipment logs. Medical supplies. Vaccines. Placebos. Equipment. Most of it normal. But there are gaps.”

  “Gaps.”

  “Containers that vanish between port scans and hospital intake. Paperwork says delivered. Physical inventory says otherwise.”

  “Stolen.”

  “Redirected,” Kai said. “To private labs. Or something pretending to be one.”

  “LSK,” Lian said.

  “Feels like them.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  She closed her eyes for a moment. “Where.”

  Kai tapped the screen. “Warehouse district. Old industrial strip near the harbor. One active location keeps popping up.”

  “Security.”

  “Moderate. Private guards. Cameras. Nothing flashy.”

  “That makes it worse.”

  Kai nodded. “I can get us inside.”

  “When.”

  “Tonight if you want.”

  Lian hesitated. She hated hesitating.

  “Do we go loud or quiet,” she asked.

  Kai grinned. “You already know the answer.”

  They moved after sunset. Rain slicked the streets and washed the city clean in a way that never lasted.

  The warehouse sat between two abandoned buildings. No signage. No lights except a single bulb over the side door.

  Lian scoped the perimeter. “Two guards. One inside.”

  “Three cameras,” Kai whispered. “All old models.”

  He slipped around the corner and went to work.

  Lian waited. She listened to the hum of traffic and the soft drip of water from a rusted gutter. She thought about the way the doctor used to bring her tea when she forgot to eat. The way he never asked questions she could not answer.

  Kai waved from the door.

  They entered.

  The air inside smelled wrong. Chemical. Clean in an artificial way.

  Rows of crates lined the walls. Labels peeled off. Barcodes scratched out.

  Kai crouched by a terminal. “This is not a warehouse. It is a sorting point.”

  “For what.”

  “Biological samples. Equipment. Some of this is hospital grade.”

  Lian moved deeper. She opened a crate.

  Inside were syringes. Unmarked.

  “Not illegal by themselves,” Kai said softly. “But paired with everything else.”

  A door creaked.

  Lian turned as a man stepped into the light. Mid forties. Security jacket. Nervous eyes.

  “Hey,” he said. “You are not supposed to be here.”

  Lian smiled politely and punched him in the throat.

  He dropped without a sound.

  Kai winced. “You are getting faster.”

  “They teach that in medical school,” she said.

  He snorted and dragged the man out of sight.

  They continued.

  Kai pulled files from the system. “Orders. Routing instructions. Authorization codes.”

  “And,” Lian prompted.

  “And his access key was used twice this month.”

  She stopped walking.

  Kai looked up. “I know. I double checked.”

  “Was it him,” she asked quietly.

  “I cannot tell,” Kai said. “Keys can be copied.”

  “But he would notice.”

  “Yes.”

  They stood there among the crates and humming equipment.

  “I want to talk to him,” Lian said.

  Kai stiffened. “That is a bad idea.”

  “I need to hear it from him.”

  “He could lie.”

  “Then I will know.”

  Kai shook his head. “You want closure. That is dangerous.”

  “So is ignorance.”

  He studied her face. “If this goes wrong.”

  “I know.”

  “I will not lose you to him,” Kai said. “Not after everything.”

  She reached out and squeezed his arm. “You will not.”

  They wiped the terminal and left no trace they could help.

  Back in the rain, Kai pulled his hood up. “We should relocate.”

  “Yes.”

  “And we should prepare for fallout.”

  She nodded.

  They did not speak on the ride back.

  At the apartment, Lian sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall.

  Kai hovered in the doorway. “Do you want me to set up the meeting.”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Neutral ground.”

  “Public,” she added.

  “Always.”

  Kai hesitated. “If he is involved.”

  “I will handle it,” she said.

  He sighed. “You always do.”

  She lay back and stared at the ceiling.

  Paper cuts hurt the most.