The officers filed out one by one, their chairs scraping softly against the conference table. The vice-captain gave Lian Ye a long look before leaving, the kind that said don't say more than you should without needing actual words.
The door shut.
Now it was just Lian Ye… and the unsettling echo of the questions they'd asked about the voices.
He rubbed the side of his head. The buzzing in his skull wouldn't stop. He didn't know if it was the fluorescent lights above, the headache, or the whispers he hoped were gone for good.
The door opened again.
A man walked in — tall, dark uniform sharp as a blade. His presence was heavy, like the air thickened to make space for him. He didn't bother with introductions, didn't glance at the empty chairs, just pulled one out and sat directly across from Lian Ye at the long conference table.
"My name is Hei Zhen," he said. "Captain."
He spoke like someone who expected people to already know.
"I wanted to speak with you personally about what you heard."
Lian Ye opened his mouth to respond — but something tightened around his throat.
Invisible.
Cold.
His breath stuttered. His fingers curled against the table's edge as the pressure increased. His heart kicked into panic mode, but his face stayed still, trained, blank.
Hei Zhen just watched him.
No movement. No blinking. Just that too-calm stare.
Lian Ye forced himself straight, pretending nothing was happening. He looked Hei Zhen dead in the eyes and spoke through the pain, voice steady and maddeningly calm.
"I don't remember much. The rest should be with the vice-captain. And…" he exhaled slowly, acting like the pressure on his neck was nothing but a memory, "I think he has something to do with it. Who knows."
The invisible force around his throat shifted again.
Then — horribly — it became visible.
Thin, translucent threads, almost like strands of shadow, coiled around his neck. And more threads extended outward, disappearing somewhere across the table—
Lian Ye followed them with his eyes.
Every line… every trembling shadowy strand…
Began at Hei Zhen.
A chill tore through him, visible this time — his shoulders stiffened, breath shaky. The room felt smaller. Colder. Like something ancient was staring at him through the captain's eyes.
His vision wavered. His consciousness dipped.
Hei Zhen leaned forward.
"Okay. I understand," he murmured, close enough for Lian Ye to feel his breath.
Then quietly… almost gently:
"But don't lie to me."
The threads vanished.
Hei Zhen rose from the chair and walked toward the door. His steps were slow, deliberate. Just before leaving, he paused.
"See you around," he said without turning back. "Or maybe not."
He walked out.
The door clicked shut.
And from the shadow at his feet — the one Lian Ye never noticed — a girl stepped out smoothly, her voice low and respectful.
"Do you want me to keep watching him?"
Hei Zhen gave a quiet chuckle and kept walking.
She melted back into his shadow, gone as quickly as she appeared.
Inside the conference room, Lian Ye stared at the long table, pulse hammering in his ears.
He finally exhaled.
And he wasn't sure if the silence that followed was better…
or worse.
---
For three days straight, Mei and the others combed every street, alley, rooftop, and backwater corner of the city. Posters. Calls. Questions. Police reports that went nowhere. Even the underground crowd hadn't heard a whisper.
Nothing.
Every lead evaporated.
By the fourth day, the whole group looked worn down. Heavy-eyed. Disappointed. Tired in the soul, not just the body.
"We've checked everywhere," Jiro muttered, rubbing his forehead. "It's like he vanished."
No one answered.
Because he was right.
Mei stood slightly apart from the group, her hands clenched so tightly her fingers trembled. She didn't look angry. Just… hollow. Like something inside her had cracked and she was trying very hard to hold the shards together.
"This city was never safe," she finally said, voice low. "And now Lian Ye is gone. I'm not staying here another day."
The others didn't argue. They all quietly agreed on the same cover story because they had no real explanation:
Lian Ye left the city.
No clues. No tracks. No goodbye.
It was the only thing that didn't hurt to say out loud.
Mei packed fast — too fast — moving like she didn't want to think about what she was doing. She boarded the first bus out, taking a window seat near the back. Her bag sat beside her, untouched, like she had forgotten she even brought it.
The bus rumbled to life.
Outside, the city rolled past — crowded markets, dim shops, streets she knew by heart. Places she and Lian Ye had walked together. Argued. Laughed. Survived.
The farther the bus went, the less she blinked. Her eyes were wide and glassy, staring out at a city she suddenly felt she never understood at all.
But then…
Right as the bus approached the exit road, something in her chest twisted. A tight, painful wrench.
She pressed the stop button.
The bus hissed to a halt.
Mei stepped off with shaky legs and stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, staring down the road that would've taken her far away. Her breath came in sharp, unsteady pulls.
She turned around.
A small hotel sat nearby — a cheap building with flickering lights and a peeling sign. She walked toward it like she was sleepwalking.
The lobby attendant said something, but she barely heard him. She got a room key, went upstairs, opened the door, and locked it behind her.
The room was simple. A bed. A small table. Curtains half-drawn.
Mei dropped her bag on the floor and sat on the bed. For a second she just stared at her hands, like they were someone else's.
Then it hit.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just a quiet, broken collapse.
Her face twisted, and she folded forward, shoulders shaking as tears fell in soft, fast drops. Every breath stuttered like she was trying — and failing — to swallow the grief.
She covered her face with her hands.
No sound.
Just crying.
Raw. Exhausted. Helpless.
Minutes slipped by.
Eventually, the tears slowed. Then stopped. She fell backward onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling with empty, red-rimmed eyes.
Her hair spread across the pillow. Her heartbeat steadied. Her breathing leveled out.
She didn't move again.
She just lay there.
Silent.
Still.
Alone in a city that had taken something she wasn't ready to lose.
---
Flicker.
Red light pulsed against the walls like fire.
Rin Shen's feet dragged across the floor as he moved through the smoky hallway. The heat wasn't real — he knew that — but the dream didn't care. Every few steps, he heard it again:
"Help… please… somebody…"
A boy's voice. High. Panicked.
Rin Shen turned the corner. The room at the end was burning bright red, flames licking the edges of the doorframe. He stepped forward, hand reaching out—
And then he saw him.
A tall figure stood in the doorway. Perfectly still. Back facing Rin Shen. Watching the flames. Watching the boy trapped inside yell for help.
But the figure didn't move. Didn't react.
Didn't save him.
Instead… he turned around as if Rin Shen wasn't even there… and walked away into the shadows.
The boy's scream cracked into the air—
"NO—!"
Rin Shen snapped upright.
His chest rose and fell with sharp breaths. Sweat clung to his forehead. The room was dim, silent except for the slow drip of five IV lines connected to his arm. The liquid inside them glowed faintly — a cold blue-green, swirling in slow spirals.
Detox cycle.
His least favorite nightmare.
He lifted a hand to look at his hair. Still streaked with dark color… not fully white yet.
Great.
He exhaled and let his back fall against the pillow again. The metallic taste of poison withdrawal sat heavy on his tongue.
Then—
Click.
The door opened.
Rin Shen didn't bother lifting his head. Only one person walked in without knocking.
Footsteps. Soft. Controlled. Too quiet to be normal.
Hei Zhen.
The captain stepped inside as if the room already belonged to him. His presence felt like the temperature dropped by five degrees. Rin Shen stared at the ceiling, silently bracing himself.
"You're awake," Hei Zhen said calmly.
No greeting. No concern. Just an observation.
Rin Shen didn't respond.
Hei Zhen stepped closer until his shadow fell across Rin's bed. The drip lines swayed slightly, reacting to the pressure in the room.
"You're angry," Hei Zhen said. "Not surprising. Someone tried to kill you… and the faction pretended it was nothing."
Rin Shen's jaw twitched.
Hei Zhen leaned in just a little, voice lowering into something sharper — a voice meant to cut.
"You want answers, don't you? But the faction won't help you. They don't care enough. They never have."
A cold pause.
"You'll have to hunt down the one who wanted you dead… alone."
Something in Rin's chest tightened. A familiar burn. Not poison — anger.
Hei Zhen watched that reaction, satisfied.
Then he dropped something onto the bed beside Rin.
A long black coat.
A folded blindfold.
Black trousers.
A plain black inner shirt.
All silent gifts.
All unmistakable.
A different identity.
A different name.
A different path.
Hei Zhen didn't need to say it out loud. The message was carved into the air:
Use another name… step outside the faction's laws… find your answers.
He turned and walked toward the door.
At the doorway, he paused.
"Don't take too long to decide," he said softly. "People who hesitate usually end up dead."
The door shut.
The room fell quiet again.
Rin Shen stared at the clothes for a long moment, expression unreadable. His fingers brushed the coat — just once — then withdrew as if the fabric burned him.
He exhaled slowly… then turned his head away.
He closed his eyes and lay back down, ignoring the coat, the blindfold, all of it.
Not today.
Not yet.
But the anger didn't leave.
It waited.
Coiled.
Like a snake.