Six hours later, New York City.

  The workday ended, and the city seemed to breathe out a long-held sigh.

  Office towers spilled their contents onto the streets—men and women in rumpled shirts and tired shoes, faces illuminated by the first flickers of neon and the warm, golden haze of streetlights.

  The air was thick with the scent of rain on concrete, mingling with exhaust and the sweet, greasy promise of food carts.

  It was just another ordinary evening—everyone moving through familiar routines, unaware that anything out of the ordinary might be waiting just beyond the edges of their day.

  “Heading home already?” Chris called out, his voice bright and a little teasing as he watched his black-haired colleague gather up his things.

  Yan Qing barely paused, slipping the strap of his bag over his shoulder, the nylon rasping against his jacket. “Yeah, I need to stop by the mall,” he replied, already halfway to the door, the soles of his shoes squeaking faintly on the linoleum.

  Chris leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow arched, the fluorescent lights overhead casting sharp shadows across his face. “You’ve been leaving early a lot lately. Everything alright?”

  Yan Qing flashed a quick, practiced smile—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. Just need to cook tonight, that’s all.” He pressed the elevator button, glancing back over his shoulder as the doors slid open with a soft chime. “See you tomorrow!”

  The elevator doors closed with a gentle hiss. Chris watched the empty space for a moment, then rubbed his chin, murmuring to himself, “Strange.”

  After leaving the mall, Yan Qing walked slowly toward his apartment, arms aching from the weight of shopping bags cutting into his fingers. The plastic handles creaked with every step.

  He turned into a quiet side alley, hoping for a shortcut home. The city’s noise faded behind him, replaced by the distant drip of water from a fire escape and the faint buzz of a flickering streetlamp overhead.

  He realized his mistake almost immediately.

  “Who are you?” Yan Qing demanded, stopping short as three men stepped out of the shadows, blocking his path.

  The alley was narrow, the walls on either side slick with old graffiti and the smell of damp brick.

  At a glance, the three had nothing in common. Their ages varied, their clothes mismatched—one in a faded hoodie, another in a suit jacket gone shiny at the elbows, the third in a school uniform, tie askew.

  Under normal circumstances, no one would ever imagine these men were connected—let alone standing together to corner him.

  The youngest stepped forward, sneakers scuffing against the cracked pavement. He looked barely out of high school, still wearing what appeared to be a local school uniform.

  “You’re William Yan Qing, right?” the boy asked, his voice oddly steady. “The one who presented the atmospheric anomaly data at the research conference two days ago?”

  Two days ago, at the New York Scientific Symposium, Yan Qing had presented a set of anomalous crustal and atmospheric data he’d recently collected. As an astrophysicist, he’d been accused of crossing professional boundaries. No matter how strongly he emphasized the importance of his findings, most of the audience dismissed him with skepticism.

  And now—

  Yan Qing tightened his grip on the shopping bags, the plastic biting into his palms, every muscle going rigid.

  These people… could it be—

  The possibility hit him hard, cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck.

  If they weren’t human—

  His body tensed, adrenaline spiking, but his voice stayed calm, echoing slightly in the confined space.

  “Yes,” he said evenly. “What do you want with me?”

  “People who know too much,” the boy replied, stepping closer, “don’t get to live very long.”

  The two men behind him advanced, their footsteps muffled on the damp concrete.

  Yan Qing backed away until his shoulder blades pressed against the rough brick wall at the end of the alley. The space closed in, narrow and inescapable. In the backlight, the three figures surrounded him, their eyes gleaming with a predatory sharpness—like beasts scenting blood.

  His heart slammed against his ribs as adrenaline flooded his system, the sound of his own pulse roaring in his ears.

  “Afraid?” Yan Qing sneered, his voice cold and brittle. “Afraid the world will find out you exist? Fenreigans?”

  The reaction was immediate.

  All three stiffened.

  This human—knew their name?

  “If you know what we are,” the boy hissed, “then we definitely can’t let you live.”

  He gestured.

  The next instant, the two men lunged.

  Desperation snapped through Yan Qing’s nerves. He jerked sideways, the attacker’s arm slicing the air where his head had been. A sudden sting burned across his neck—a claw or blade, he couldn’t tell. Hot blood oozed down, sticky against his skin, soaking into his collar. He pressed a trembling hand to the wound. Not deep. He tasted iron, breath catching, heart hammering as relief and terror tangled in his chest.

  “Fast,” the boy said with a laugh, amused as if watching a struggling stray animal. “It’s been a while since we’ve had something fun. How about we take our time with you? Tear you apart slowly—one arm at a time.”

  Yan Qing sucked in ragged breaths, lungs tight as if the alley itself was closing in. His hand fumbled at his belt, fingers slipping on sweat as he found the cold weight of the gun Chen had insisted him to carry everywhere on his person. The Fenreigans lunged. Yan Qing yanked the weapon free, leveled it, and squeezed the trigger. The gun coughed—a muffled pop. One attacker jerked, a hole punched clean through his chest, and crumpled to the ground without a sound.

  The other two skidded to a halt, eyes wide, staring at the body sprawled at their feet. Yan Qing’s gaze locked on the corpse—a ragged hole smoked in the center of its chest, flesh seared black around the edges. The alley stank of ozone and blood, sharp and nauseating.

  “…An anion gun?” the boy gasped, panic sharpening his voice. “Impossible—are you Teleopean?!”

  They’d been warned. Teleopeans might be on Earth. Every operative carried a bio-scanner to identify disguised species.

  But the device had confirmed it—

  This man was human.

  So how—

  Yan Qing said nothing. His expression was cold, hostile, unreadable.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Inside, one thought burned brighter than fear.

  I can’t die. I need to ask Chen what the hell he’s done with the gun. I refuse to die without understanding the physics behind it.

  The two Fenreigans mistook his silence for confirmation.

  They raised their own weapons.

  “Die, Teleopean!!”

  Light erupted—thunderous, deafening. Yan Qing flung himself sideways as beams ripped past, scorching the brick behind him. Plaster exploded, shards pelting his back. He didn’t wait to see if they’d fire again. He bolted, boots slipping on debris, and dove through the ragged hole blasted in the wall. Marble and chandelier light crashed over him, dazzling after the alley’s gloom.

  “Don’t let him escape!”

  They followed, footsteps pounding on the polished floor.

  Several blocks away, Chen suddenly rose from his seat, the faint hum of city traffic outside his window.

  In a blur of inhuman speed, he vaulted from the balcony and leapt into the air. The wind whipped at his coat as the city lights blurred beneath him.

  The cloaking system activated instantly.

  He vanished.

  The XX Hotel was world-famous—opulent interiors, impeccable service, a sanctuary for the global elite.

  Today, its guests were… unusual.

  “Stop!”

  Footsteps thundered down the corridor as two men chased an Asian young man through the maze-like halls. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and expensive cologne.

  Damn it—this place is a labyrinth!

  Yan Qing turned sharply down another corridor, heart pounding, shoes squeaking on the marble.

  He didn’t even realize he’d reached the second floor.

  Where’s the exit—where—

  His vision suddenly swam; the overhead lights seemed to flare, turning everything into a hazy glare. He blinked hard and gave his head a quick shake, willing the world to come back into focus.

  A door flashed into view.

  He barreled into the door, shoulder first, and nearly fell as it swung open. He slammed it shut, twisting the lock with shaking fingers, then staggered forward, clutching at a dresser for balance. The room was lit stark white with artificial lights, air cool and unmoving. No voices. No footsteps—yet. His own breath thundered in his ears. He dropped to his knees, crawled under the bed, dust clogging his nose, and pressed himself flat, hand clamped over his mouth to muffle the sound.Think.Listen.Footsteps thudded outside. Silence.The doorknob rattled, then turned.

  Yan Qing’s fingers tightened around the gun, the metal cold and reassuring in his palm.

  The door opened.

  Two sets of footsteps entered the room, unhurried now—confident. Shadows crossed the carpet, slow and deliberate.

  “He’s here,” one of them said softly. “I can smell him.”

  Yan Qing squeezed his eyes shut.

  So much for hiding.

  The mattress above him dipped—someone leaning down, searching.Suddenly, the lights snapped off. Not a flicker—just darkness, absolute and suffocating. Cold swept across the floor, prickling Yan Qing’s skin.A blur—movement too fast to follow.Air ripped, a wet gasp strangled the silence, and something heavy slammed into the wall with a sickening crunch. The second Fenreigan spun, weapon raised——and froze, caught in a shaft of golden light that sliced through the black.

  Yan Qing watched through the narrow gap between mattress and floor as a familiar silhouette stepped into view, tall and unmistakable even without the light. The air itself seemed to bend around him, particles trembling, as if unwilling to exist too close.

  Chen.

  One of the Fenreigans opened his mouth as if trying to scream but nothing came out.

  Chen didn’t move immediately.

  Instead, he turned his head slightly.

  “Yan Qing,” he said, his voice low and steady.

  Yan Qing looked up, still half crouched, gun trembling in his hand. Chen’s golden eyes found his with unerring precision—not sharp now, not wrathful. Steady.

  “Close your eyes.”

  Yan Qing hesitated, breath catching.

  “Please.”

  He shut them.

  Darkness pressed in—but the world did not go quiet.

  There was a sudden pressure change, sharp enough to pop his ears. Air screamed as it was displaced, a concussive whump that rattled the bedframe above him. Something heavy hit the wall with a sound like wet meat slammed against concrete.

  A choking noise followed.

  Not a scream—cut too short for that. More like breath being crushed out of a chest that no longer knew how to inhale.

  Then another sound, closer this time.

  A sharp crack, brittle and final, followed by a low, viscous thud as something collapsed to the floor.

  Yan Qing’s stomach lurched.

  He could hear it all—the room itself reacting. Furniture shuddering. Plaster dust whispering down. The faint electric hum in the air spiking and then cutting out completely, as if the space had been briefly overloaded.

  There was a moment of absolute stillness.

  No footsteps.

  No breathing but his own—ragged, uneven, too loud in his ears.

  The pressure lifted all at once, like a storm pulling back from the coast, leaving only ringing silence behind it.

  “All right,” Chen said softly. “You can open them now.”

  Yan Qing didn’t move at first.

  When he finally did, his eyes burned from the effort of keeping them closed through sounds his mind refused to fully assemble into images.

  The room looked… wrong. Too empty. Too still.

  Chen was already in front of him, blocking his line of sight with his body, one hand resting lightly against Yan Qing’s shoulder as if anchoring him to the present.

  “You’re bleeding,” Chen said. His voice was gentle, but his hand tightened, betraying strain he did not name.

  Yan Qing swallowed. “Just a scrape, no big deal.”

  “We’re going home.” The words landed as Chen grabbed Yan Qing’s arm and practically dragged him with him.

  “Chen—listen to me. This time it was an accident. They probably went to the science conference a few days ago, that’s why they came after me—”

  The black-haired scientist was being pulled forward, forced into a near jog just to keep up. “Next time I’ll be more careful—ah!”

  The world lurched.

  His back slammed into something; numb pain bloomed across his spine.

  Chen had already pinned him between his body and the wall.

  “Next time?” Chen’s eyes narrowed with fury. “You’re still talking about next time? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Yan Qing—I can’t be at your side forever to protect you!”

  The implication—sharp as a blade—made Yan Qing feel like dead weight. He snapped back at once.

  “Then don’t! This is humanity’s world—Earth. And as a human, I know someone is trying to destroy it, and I can’t do anything. Do you know what that feels like?”

  Chen opened his mouth, but Yan Qing cut him off, words spilling faster, rougher.

  “Yeah, you have everything. You’re better than us in every way. And me? At the conference, nobody believed a word I said. Useless, right? I feel so useless that sometimes I even wonder why you’d like someone like me—someone who can’t compare to you at all.”

  That last sentence was the truth he kept buried deepest.

  Under the sturdy shell he’d built for himself, the uglier voice of insecurity had been asking the same question for years, quietly, relentlessly.

  Chen’s gentleness. Chen’s grace. Chen’s composure.

  Each of them fascinated him—and stung.

  He envied Chen’s mastery of technology. Envied that bioweapon level of strength. Envied the effortless way Chen outclassed humans—outclassed him—at everything.

  What right did a twisted, petty human like him have to accept Chen’s love?

  What right did he have to let Chen spill blood for a world that wasn’t even his—fight another species—because of him?

  Chen didn’t speak. He only watched Yan Qing, letting him unravel the knot he’d been choking on for far too long.

  Yan Qing suddenly grabbed Chen by the collar, trembling with intensity.

  “Before, you left Earth quietly to honour our deal—giving up your people’s interests—and I was… I was truly grateful.”

  His voice broke and surged again.

  “But now—every night you sneak out, and you come back at dawn reeking of blood. You’re not even suited to Earth’s environment. You know some things here are poisonous to you, and you still eat them happily just because I handed them to you!”

  Tears spilled—one drop, then another—sliding down his cheeks.

  “It moves me. It really does. But do you know what it does to me at the same time? It makes me feel like I can’t breathe.”

  He swallowed hard, eyes glassy, unfocused—like someone half drunk.

  “Because no one—no human—can love like that. I can’t respond with the same intensity. I can’t. It’s too perfect. And I’m not !”

  His gaze drifted, wet and distant.

  “My father killed my mother right in front of me—because I wasn’t a perfect child. And my fiancée left me because she said I wasn’t a perfect man. That I was too much and not enough.”

  Yan Qing lifted both hands and gently cradled Chen’s face, holding it close, staring into those golden eyes as if searching for an answer inside them.

  “Chen… someone like me… what did you even love me for?”

  Chen steadied him as Yan Qing’s legs began to give. His chest tightened with pain of how Yan Qing thought of himself.

  Dilated pupils. Accelerating breath. Loss of balance. Slipping consciousness.

  Classic symptoms of Fenreiga neurotoxin—embedded in their claws.

  A large part of what Yan Qing had just confessed was the toxin loosening the locks—making him look and speak as if drunk.

  “It’s alright,” Chen murmured, voice softer than air. “It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay, vot’z Frolandii.”

  He gathered the unconscious man into his arms, the warmth of his embrace a shield against the chill, activated his cloaking device, and carried him back toward their apartment.