Lian did not rush the corner.
She leaned just enough to see into the room, keeping most of her body in shadow. The warehouse office was small and badly lit, the kind of place that pretended to be temporary even though it had clearly been used for years.
The runner stood near a metal desk, shoulders slightly hunched, hands empty now that the envelope was gone.
Behind the desk sat a man in his fifties. Clean shirt. No tie. Calm eyes that missed very little.
Lian had seen his type before.
Not muscle.
Not field.
Administration with teeth.
Kai’s voice came through low and tight. “You’re looking at him, right.”
“Yes.”
“I’m pulling facial recognition. Give me a second.”
Inside the room, the older man slid the drawer shut with quiet precision.
“Next delivery stays the same time,” he said.
The runner nodded quickly. “Understood.”
“And the hospital contact.”
“He hasn’t changed anything,” the runner replied. “Still pushing the same batches.”
The older man gave a small, satisfied nod.
Lian felt something cold settle deeper in her chest.
Kai inhaled sharply in her ear. “Okay. I’ve got him.”
“Name.”
“Chen Wei Lun. Mid level logistics coordinator. No official record tying him to anything illegal, but his shell companies scream LSK.”
Lian’s eyes stayed on the man.
Chen leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers steepled.
“Payment flow remains clean?” he asked.
“Yes,” the runner said. “Patients think it’s supplemental treatment.”
Lian’s jaw tightened by a fraction.
Kai went quiet for half a beat.
Then, softly, “Lian.”
“I heard.”
Inside, Chen gave a faint smile that never touched his eyes.
“Good. Consistency is what keeps people blind.”
The runner shifted his weight. Nervous energy now. He was ready to leave.
Lian stepped back from the corner before either of them could move toward the door.
“Kai,” she murmured.
“I know,” he said. “You want him.”
“I want both.”
A brief pause.
Kai exhaled slowly. “You’ve got two heat signatures in the adjacent storage area. Probably guards.”
Of course.
Lian’s gaze flicked down the dim corridor.
“Armed?”
“Likely. I’m picking up metal density consistent with sidearms.”
Lian adjusted her stance, mind already mapping the room from memory.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Runner leaves first,” she said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Loop cameras again when he exits.”
“I can give you sixty seconds clean this time.”
“That’s enough.”
Inside the office, the runner gave a quick bow of his head.
“I’ll report next week.”
Chen waved a hand dismissively. “Go.”
Footsteps approached the doorway.
Lian melted deeper into shadow just as the runner stepped into the hall.
He did not see her.
Most people never did.
Kai’s voice was calm but edged. “Camera loop in three… two… now.”
The hallway camera froze.
The runner turned toward the exit.
He made it three steps.
Lian moved.
One hand clamped over his mouth. The other drove sharply into the side of his neck.
The man’s body went rigid in shock.
Then limp.
Lian lowered him silently to the concrete.
Kai let out a slow breath. “Clean.”
She dragged the unconscious runner into the dark edge of the corridor and secured his wrists with a quick plastic bind from her pocket.
“Time,” she said.
“Forty seconds left on the loop.”
Lian rose and moved toward the office door.
Inside, Chen was already reaching for his phone.
Too slow.
The door opened without a sound.
Chen looked up.
Their eyes met.
For a fraction of a second, surprise flashed across his face.
Then it vanished behind something colder.
“You’re not delivery,” he said calmly.
Lian stepped fully into the room.
“No.”
His gaze flicked once toward the door behind her.
Calculating distance.
Measuring options.
Smart.
“Your security is unconscious,” Lian said.
Chen studied her more carefully now.
“You’re very quiet,” he said.
Kai’s voice murmured in her ear. “Two guards still in storage. They haven’t moved.”
“Stay with me,” Lian whispered.
“Always.”
Chen leaned back slowly in his chair, hands visible on the desk.
“You’re not police,” he said.
“No.”
“Then you’re either very lost,” he continued evenly, “or very deliberate.”
Lian took one step closer.
“I’m looking for information.”
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.
“Information is expensive.”
Her eyes did not soften.
“I’m not paying.”
For the first time, Chen’s gaze sharpened with real interest.
“You think intimidation works here?”
Lian tilted her head slightly.
“I know it does.”
Silence settled in the room, thin and tight.
Kai spoke quietly. “Heat signatures just shifted. Guards are getting curious.”
“Time is short,” Lian said.
Chen’s fingers tapped once against the desk.
“You’re connected to the hospital incidents,” he said slowly. “I was wondering when someone would start pulling threads.”
Lian did not react.
Chen watched her carefully.
“You want to know what we’re distributing,” he continued. “Why the patients keep coming back.”
Kai’s breathing was very quiet in her ear now.
“Talk,” Lian said.
Chen’s smile returned, faint and controlled.
“It’s simple supply and demand.”
“Don’t,” she said flatly.
His eyes flickered with amusement.
“People trust doctors,” he said. “Especially when they are desperate.”
Something hard flashed behind Lian’s calm expression.
Kai caught it immediately.
“Guards are moving,” he warned softly. “Thirty seconds.”
Lian stepped closer to the desk.
“Who’s overseeing the batches.”
Chen studied her face carefully.
“You already know the answer.”
Her voice dropped lower.
“Say it.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Chen spoke quietly.
“The good doctor is very committed to the work.”
Kai swore under his breath.
Footsteps sounded faintly in the hallway outside.
Closer now.
Lian’s focus never left Chen.
“What’s in the packets,” she asked.
Chen’s smile thinned.
“You’re already too late to worry about that.”
The hallway door handle rattled.
Kai’s voice sharpened. “They’re right outside.”
Lian moved.
Fast.
She reached across the desk and slammed Chen’s phone out of reach just as the office door burst open.
Two guards rushed in.
They did not even finish raising their weapons.
Lian was already in motion.
