Kai’s voice came through the comm in Lian’s ear. Calm, even. “Two outside the back door. They’re smoking cheap reds. The kind that stinks from a mile away.”

  Lian crouched on the rooftop opposite, her gloved hand resting on the edge. She could see the glow of the cigarettes in the dark, tiny orange dots pulsing each time the men inhaled.

  “How’s the inside?” she asked quietly.

  Kai rustled paper, the sound of a map being folded. “Upstairs rooms. Locked from the outside. Thermal shows at least six heat signatures. Small bodies.” He hesitated. “Probably drugged.”

  Lian shut her eyes for a moment. The heaviness sat in her chest, the way it always did. She had learned not to let it slow her, but it never went away.

  “Numbers?” she asked.

  “Ground floor: four men, maybe five. The two outside. Another two upstairs guarding. Could be more I can’t see.”

  “Any civvies?”

  “None. Just the kids.”

  “Good,” she whispered, then pulled the hood tighter around her face.

  She waited, letting the sound of the city fill her ears. The buzz of an old transformer, water dripping from broken pipes, a dog barking somewhere far away. Then she shifted her weight.

  “On my mark,” she said.

  Kai chuckled lightly, trying to ease the air. “You know I live for your marks.”

  She smirked despite herself. He always found a way to lighten her steel edges.

  “Three. Two. One.”

  Lian moved first. She vaulted across the gap, boots landing soft on the corrugated tin roof above the door. The two guards startled at the sudden thud, cigarettes dropping. One opened his mouth to shout, but her blade was already out. A clean arc across his throat. The second man fumbled with his pistol, but a silenced shot from across the street cut him down before he could fire.

  “Clear,” Kai’s voice said.

  She crouched by the door, pressed her ear against it. Muffled laughter inside, the clink of bottles. She slipped a thin wire into the lock, twisting, patient. The click was soft but decisive.

  The door creaked open.

  She moved like a shadow. The first man inside was halfway through telling a joke, beer bottle at his lips. He didn’t even register her until the blade punched into his side, sliding up between ribs. He collapsed with a grunt, eyes wide in shock.

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  Another man stood, chair scraping. She lunged forward, blade flashing. The third one tried for his gun but Kai’s shot punched through the window, the bullet neat and precise. Blood sprayed against the wall.

  The room turned into chaos. One man bolted for the stairs. Lian gave chase, her boots thudding on the wooden steps.

  Upstairs, the stench hit her first. Sweat, mold, the faint chemical smell of sedatives. She found the man fumbling with his keys at the end of the hall. She grabbed him by the collar, slammed his head into the wall, and he crumpled.

  The locks on the doors rattled. Small fists pounding weakly from the other side.

  “I need you up here,” she said into the comm.

  “On my way.”

  She crouched, pressed her face close to the door seam. “It’s alright. Stay quiet. We’re here to help.”

  There was silence, then a tiny whimper.

  Kai arrived, laptop bag bouncing at his hip. He went to work on the locks, fingers moving quick. Within minutes the first door swung open. Inside, three children huddled together, eyes glazed.

  Lian knelt, lowering her hood. “It’s safe now,” she said gently. “No one will hurt you.”

  The youngest, a boy maybe five, clutched a threadbare stuffed rabbit. He stared at her with huge eyes.

  Kai’s jaw tightened as he checked them, shining a penlight into their pupils. “Sedated. Nothing permanent, but they need medical attention.”

  “Get the others.”

  They worked fast, unlocking each room. Ten children in total, most too weak to walk. Lian guided them into the hallway, her voice steady, telling them to breathe, to hold onto one another.

  Downstairs, the building was silent now except for the drip of spilled beer. The dead men sprawled on the floor like discarded trash.

  “Transport?” Kai asked.

  “I called Mei,” she replied. “Van should be here in five.”

  He nodded. “Then we hold.”

  They stood guard while the children sat in a cluster, leaning on each other. One little girl with tangled hair whispered something in Mandarin. Lian bent down, asking her to repeat it.

  “My brother,” the girl said softly. “They took him yesterday. He’s not here anymore.”

  Lian’s stomach knotted. She smoothed the girl’s hair back, hiding her reaction. “We’ll find him,” she said.

  Headlights cut across the wall. Tires crunched outside. A soft knock, two beats and a pause.

  “It’s Mei,” Lian called.

  The door opened and a short woman in a baseball cap entered, scanning the room. “Load them quick,” Mei said. “We don’t want eyes.”

  They carried the children down, one by one, into the van. Blankets waited inside. Mei’s team murmured soft reassurances as they settled the kids in.

  When the last child was loaded, Mei looked at Lian. “Hospital?”

  “No. Too many questions. Take them to the safehouse first.”

  Mei nodded and drove off without another word.

  The alley fell silent again.

  Kai exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. “That’s ten more out. But how many more are still in?”

  “Enough to keep us moving,” Lian said.

  He looked at her, eyes sharp in the glow of a streetlamp. “We’re not just pulling weeds anymore. There’s a root system.”

  Lian said nothing. She wiped her blade clean and slipped it back into its sheath. The rain had eased, but the streets still glistened, and the city carried on as if nothing had happened here at all.