The water tower stood a hundred feet high, a massive, rusted steel mushroom dominating the abandoned dockyard. Its surface was sheer, save for the vertical access ladder—a precarious climb with rungs missing and corrosion eating away at the joints.
Lei had to move fast. He could hear the distant whine of the Night Watchers' specialized silent drones already sweeping the dockyard, relying on passive acoustic mapping and thermal imaging to find his body heat.
He began the ascent. The air was getting warmer as the sun rose fully, making his padded clothing a liability, but the sheer effort of the climb was creating enough heat to make him a beacon.
Midway up, a sleek, black surveillance drone—no bigger than a dinner plate—buzzed past his head, its thermal lens scanning the warehouse roofs. It didn't spot him immediately; his rapid movement against the cool metal surface was momentarily confusing the thermal signature. But it would loop back.
Lei reached the access hatch at the top. It was sealed shut by heavy rust and a bolted lock. He couldn't risk the noise of forcing it open.
He took out the Sonic Pulse Dampener. It was almost out of energy, its tiny status light blinking amber, but he needed one final use. He aimed the focused emitter directly at the lock's brittle hasp. He pressed the contact pad—not for two seconds, but for one, quick burst.
The hasp fractured with a silent, molecular pop.
Lei shoved the heavy metal hatch open. He slipped inside the tank, pulling the lid shut and sealing himself in darkness.
The air inside was heavy, thick with the metallic scent of stale water and ozone. Lei was standing on a narrow maintenance walkway built just above the stagnant water line. The water itself was dark, still, and utterly silent.
This was his perfect hiding spot. The massive volume of still water acted as a thermal sink, instantly cooling the surrounding metal walls and neutralizing his radiating body heat. Furthermore, the tank was acoustically isolated from the ground, meaning the Night Watchers' seismic boots were useless here. He had become a thermal ghost, invisible and inaudible.
He sat down, resting his spine against the curved wall, and finally allowed his racing heart to slow. He checked the time: Two hours until the rendezvous.
He took out the Key of Leda—the stone containing Mei's chip—and held it, feeling the tiny pulse of the encryptor working tirelessly. He knew the Night Watchers were likely sweeping every thermal anomaly within a one-kilometer radius of the pier. They were methodical, but they weren't expecting him to be hiding inside a utility structure that served as its own countermeasure.
As the second hour passed, the faint, high-pitched whine of the surveillance drones grew louder, closer, then faded away, unable to resolve his signature. He was successfully off the grid.
But his victory was brief. As the final hour began, Lei heard a distant sound that made his blood run cold: the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of metal cleats on the pier's pavement, right near the location of the Macau-bound cargo container ship.
He crawled to a tiny, high vent slit, peering out.
The scene below was tense and clear. The massive cargo vessel, the Jian Hua, was being prepped for departure, its decks bustling with crew and its cranes loading final containers. But along the perimeter of the docks, interspersed among the casual security guards, were at least a dozen Night Watchers. They wore civilian clothing but held their postures too stiffly, their eyes scanning the cargo stacks with unnatural intensity.
They weren't looking for a fleeing Ghost; they were looking for a smuggler. They knew the pier was the only logical exit point from the city and they were watching every ship, every container, and every crew member.
The woman from the tea stall and Mr. Hu's network were not here yet. They were expected to deliver him into the cargo hold, but the Night Watchers had sealed the exits early.
Lei checked the time one last time. Five minutes until the scheduled rendezvous. The Jian Hua's horn let out a deep, resounding blast—the five-minute warning for departure.
He couldn't wait for the rendezvous. He had to board the ship now, before the Night Watchers could initiate a full, coordinated sweep of the cargo hold. The only way onto the ship without being seen by the armed agents below was through the air.
Lei looked down at the ship, separated by a gap of twenty meters and a sheer drop to the water. He then looked at the massive, empty cargo crane that loomed directly over the tower and the deck of the Jian Hua. Its operator's cabin was unoccupied.
He had one last, desperate chance. He had to leave the sanctuary of the thermal ghost, cross the open air using the crane as a traversal point, and drop directly onto the deck of the moving cargo ship before the Night Watchers could react.
He strapped the Key of Leda stone securely inside his belt pouch, took a deep breath of the stale, cold air, and slid the heavy hatch open. The sun immediately hit his eyes.
He stepped out onto the roof of the water tower, exposed to the rising heat and the watchful eyes of the city, and began to run toward the crane's access ladder. He was no longer a ghost of the night; he was a human target in the clear light of day.