By the time they got back to the safehouse, the rain had turned mean.
It slapped against the narrow windows in hard bursts, the kind that made the whole city sound restless. Lian stepped inside first, already pulling off her damp jacket. The safehouse was quiet except for the soft hum of Kai’s equipment.
Kai did not look up immediately.
That was never a good sign.
“What did you find,” Lian asked, tossing the jacket over the back of a chair.
Kai leaned back slowly in his seat. His screen cast pale light across his face, sharpening the shadows under his eyes.
“You’re not going to like it,” he said.
Lian crossed the room and stopped beside him. “Show me.”
Kai tapped a key.
The screen filled with profiles. Patient files. Medical histories. Payment records. All neatly arranged in Kai’s organized chaos.
Lian scanned quickly.
Then she slowed.
“Private insurance,” she murmured.
“Every single one,” Kai said.
Her eyes moved down the list.
Age ranges varied. Different neighborhoods. Different procedures. On paper, they had nothing in common.
Except they did.
“They all went through his surgical team,” Lian said quietly.
Kai nodded once. “Yeah.”
Silence settled between them, thick and focused.
Lian leaned one hand on the desk. “Timeline.”
Kai pulled up another window. “First patient was six weeks ago. After that, one every few days. Then it speeds up.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Speeds up how.”
Kai zoomed the chart.
Lian’s expression did not change, but something in her posture went very still.
The spacing between cases was tightening.
Not random.
Deliberate.
“He’s getting comfortable,” Kai said.
Lian did not answer right away.
She studied the names again. The ages. The procedure notes that looked perfectly routine on the surface.
“Any overlap with known LSK fronts,” she asked.
“Still digging,” Kai said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “But there’s something else.”
Lian shifted slightly. “Say it.”
Kai hesitated.
That made her eyes narrow.
“Kai.”
He sighed and pulled up a separate file.
“This is the injector manufacturer you asked about.”
The company name appeared on screen.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Small. Clinical. Easy to overlook.
Lian read it twice.
“Shell company,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Ownership.”
Kai clicked again.
The ownership tree unfolded in layers, each one more buried than the last.
Lian watched the connections appear one by one.
Then she exhaled slowly.
“LSK,” she said.
Kai gave a humorless little nod. “Welcome to the party.”
For a moment neither of them spoke.
The rain hammered harder against the windows.
Lian straightened slightly, her voice calm but colder now. “How clean is the trail.”
“Very,” Kai said. “If we weren’t already looking, nobody would notice.”
Her fingers tapped once against the desk.
“He’s not improvising,” she said.
“Nope.”
“Supply chain is already in place.”
Kai grimaced. “Yep.”
Lian’s jaw tightened just a fraction.
Kai noticed. Of course he did.
He leaned back in his chair and studied her carefully. “You want my honest take.”
“You always give it.”
Kai folded his arms loosely. “He crossed the line a while ago.”
The words sat heavy in the room.
Lian looked back at the screen instead of at him.
“I know,” she said quietly.
Kai watched her for a few seconds longer, then deliberately shifted the topic.
“Okay, tactical question,” he said. “Do we ghost the hospital network deeper, or do we go physical.”
That pulled her fully back into focus.
“Network first,” Lian said immediately. “Quiet.”
Kai nodded. That was what he expected.
“I can get deeper into their internal logs,” he said. “But whoever is scrubbing data knows what they’re doing. If I push too hard, they’ll notice.”
“Then don’t push,” Lian said.
Kai gave her a look. “Very helpful.”
“Probe the edges,” she clarified. “Look for patterns they missed.”
His expression shifted, interest sparking. “Yeah. Okay. That might work.”
He turned back to the keyboard, fingers already moving.
For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was typing and rain.
Then Kai spoke again, quieter.
“There’s one patient you should look at.”
Lian’s attention snapped back.
Kai enlarged a single profile.
Female. Thirty two. Routine gallbladder removal.
Lian frowned slightly. “What about her.”
Kai pulled up the billing record.
“Cash supplement,” he said.
Her eyes sharpened.
Private hospitals ran on insurance and clean electronic payments. Cash was unusual. Not unheard of. But unusual enough to matter.
“How much,” she asked.
Kai zoomed the number.
Lian’s gaze hardened.
“That’s not a copay,” she said.
“Nope.”
They both knew what it looked like.
Not proof.
But pressure.
Lian leaned closer to the screen. “Any follow up appointment.”
Kai checked.
“Scheduled,” he said slowly. “Tomorrow afternoon.”
The room went very still.
Lian straightened.
Kai looked over at her. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking.”
“Yes,” she said.
He studied her face carefully. “You want eyes on her.”
“I want to know what happens after the follow up.”
Kai nodded slowly. “Okay. That we can do.”
He pulled up city cameras, already mapping routes.
“Patient lives in Sham Shui Po,” he said. “Low profile building. Easy to watch.”
Lian moved toward the equipment rack, already reaching for a fresh comm unit.
Kai glanced up. “You’re going out again tonight.”
Not a question.
“Yes.”
He sighed but did not argue. “Give me ten minutes to set up remote coverage.”
“You have five.”
Kai snorted softly. “You are a terrible manager.”
“Five,” she repeated.
He rolled his eyes and started typing faster.
Lian checked her sidearm with smooth, practiced motions. The familiar weight settled against her palm like muscle memory.
After a moment, Kai spoke again, more quietly.
“You know,” he said, “this is getting messy.”
Lian slid the weapon back into place. “It was always messy.”
“Yeah,” Kai said. “But this feels different.”
She paused.
Just for a second.
Then she picked up her jacket.
“We follow the evidence,” she said.
Kai watched her for a long moment.
Then he nodded once.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “We do.”
The rain outside showed no signs of stopping.
And neither did they.
