The rain started halfway down Nathan Road, light at first and then suddenly serious. Lian pulled her hood up and kept walking. Kai matched her pace without being told, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking to reflections in shop windows.
“You think anyone followed us,” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Too messy out here. Everyone’s in a hurry. We blend.”
They ducked into a side street and through an unmarked door that led to a narrow stairwell. The safehouse was three floors up, a small apartment that smelled faintly of detergent and old paint. Kai locked the door behind them and immediately crossed to the laptop on the kitchen table.
Lian kicked off her shoes and set her bag down. She leaned against the counter for a moment, letting the quiet settle. Outside, rain tapped against the window in an uneven rhythm.
“He looked worse,” Kai said without looking up.
“Worse than what,” she asked.
“Last time,” he replied. “Last year. Worse than when he was angry. This was tired.”
Lian poured herself a glass of water. “Tired people make mistakes.”
“Or deals,” Kai said.
She shot him a look. “You promised.”
“I promised not to interfere,” he said. “Not to stop thinking.”
He started typing, the familiar clack of keys filling the room. Lian watched him for a second, then moved to sit across from him.
“What are you pulling,” she asked.
“Public records,” he said. “Foundations. Grants. Who is funding what. Nothing illegal. Just context.”
“You do this every time,” she said.
“And every time I find something useful,” he replied.
The screen filled with names and charts that meant little to her. She trusted Kai to translate when it mattered.
After a minute, he leaned back. “The foundation he mentioned is real. Clean on the surface. They fund biotech startups, hospital research, pilot programs.”
“That sounds normal,” Lian said.
“It is,” Kai agreed. “But they move money fast. Faster than public institutions. No waiting periods. No oversight committees.”
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“You do not like fast,” she said.
“I like transparent,” he replied. “Fast and opaque is how things slip.”
Lian rubbed her temples. Her head still felt full of cafeteria noise and unspoken tension.
“We are not on a mission tonight,” she said. “There is no target. No immediate threat.”
“I know,” Kai said. “I am not planning anything.”
She studied him. “You are planning something.”
“I am gathering,” he said. “There is a difference.”
She sighed. “Just do not cross lines that pull us into his life more than we already are.”
Kai’s jaw tightened. “He crossed into ours when he walked back in.”
“He walked into mine,” she corrected. “You followed.”
“That is my job,” Kai said quietly.
They sat in silence for a moment. The rain outside softened, becoming a steady background sound.
Lian stood and went to the window. Neon signs blurred into streaks of color. The city looked softer in the rain, less sharp around the edges.
“You remember when he used to complain about the cafeteria food,” she said.
Kai snorted. “He complained about everything back then.”
“He cared,” she said. “About details. About people.”
“He still does,” Kai said. “That is the problem.”
She turned back to him. “What do you mean.”
“People who care get leveraged,” he replied. “Institutions know that. Foundations know that. They offer solutions to problems they help create.”
“You are talking like he is already compromised,” she said.
“I am talking like he is vulnerable,” Kai said. “There is a difference.”
Lian sank into the chair across from him. “You are not wrong. But you are not fair either.”
Kai closed the laptop halfway. “Fair does not keep us alive.”
“No,” she agreed. “But it keeps us human.”
A soft knock sounded at the door. Both of them froze.
Kai reached for the drawer under the table, fingers brushing metal. Lian shook her head slightly and stood.
“Who is it,” she called.
“Delivery,” a voice replied. “Noodles.”
Kai relaxed a fraction. “I forgot I ordered.”
Lian opened the door enough to take the bag, checked the hallway, then locked it again.
They ate in silence at first, standing at the counter. The noodles were too salty, but warm.
“You staying in tonight,” Kai asked.
“Yes,” Lian said. “I need sleep.”
“Good,” he replied. “I will keep digging quietly.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Quietly.”
“As quietly as data allows,” he said.
She smiled despite herself. “If you find something concerning, you tell me before you act.”
He nodded. “Always.”
Later, after Kai retreated to his corner of the apartment with headphones on, Lian lay on the couch staring at the ceiling. Her phone buzzed once.
A message from the doctor. Just a single line.
Sorry I had to rush. Thank you for coming.
She typed a reply, erased it, typed again.
Take care of yourself.
She set the phone down and closed her eyes.
