“Chen—are you alright?”

  Yan Qing hovered in the bathroom doorway, watching Chen clutch the sink, his face a queasy shade of green.

  He winced. This was his fault. On a whim, he’d made a chicken-flavored French casserole and, without thinking, offered Chen a generous slice. Now the alien was paying for it—again.

  Chen tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it only made him look paler. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. My body’s just… more sensitive to plant-based products.”

  Yan Qing frowned. “Then why did you eat the whole thing?”

  Chen’s smile softened, almost sheepish. “Because you gave it to me, Yan Qing. That made me happy.”

  Yan Qing had no answer for that. He busied himself clearing the table, scraping leftovers into the bin with more force than necessary, guilt gnawing at him.

  After a while, Chen poked his head out of the bathroom. “Mind if I use your computer for a bit again?”

  “Go ahead,” Yan Qing said, waving him toward the study. He watched Chen disappear, then wandered into his bedroom.

  He caught sight of himself in the mirror and paused.

  For a long moment, he just stared.

  The reflection stared back at its owner: dark eyes half-hidden beneath a heavy fringe, nose blending quietly into the rest of his face, jawline softened by the long, tangled hair that spilled past his shoulders.

  Yan Qing tugged at a strand, considering whether it was finally time for a trim. People always assumed he was making some kind of statement, but the truth was simpler—he just couldn’t be bothered to book an appointment.

  His build was as unimpressive as ever—a typical shut-in scientist, all narrow shoulders and soft edges. Next to Chen, who looked like he’d stepped out of a myth, Yan Qing felt painfully ordinary.

  Why?

  This was not the first time he asked quietly to himself.

  He stood there, scrutinizing his reflection, for five full minutes.

  The phone rang, startling him. He grabbed it from the bedside table. “Hello?”

  “Yan Qing! Long time no see! How’ve you been?!” Chris’s voice was so loud it nearly blew out the speaker.

  Yan Qing sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Chris. Still alive, I see.”

  “Barely! Without you, my paper got sent back for rewrites again. I’m dying here. When are you coming back to work?”

  “I don’t know. It’s paid leave, at least—I won’t starve.” He hesitated, then remembered. “Hey, do you know what Hollins has been up to lately?”

  Chris snorted. “That old bastard? Haven’t seen him in ages. No idea.”

  Yan Qing frowned. “Strange…”

  “Anyway, want to go out drinking? You’re on leave, right?”

  Yan Qing glanced toward the study, where Chen was probably dismantling his laptop out of curiosity. “Sorry, I’ve got… things to take care of at home.”

  Chris laughed. “Alright, alright. I’ll ask around about Hollins for you. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “Thanks, Chris.”

  “Ciao!”

  Yan Qing hung up, the familiar chaos of Chris’s voice lingering in his ears. Some things, at least, never changed.

  He looked around at the casserole dish, the cluttered kitchen, the faint sound of keys from the study. Then he rolled up his sleeves and started washing the pot, letting the hot water and the simple rhythm of cleaning settle his nerves.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Hollins disappeared, and the underground lab fire had made the news afterward, but the official statement used a single line—“old wiring caused a cornfield fire”—to deny the underground facility’s existence. Just like its existence, it had never been known to the public.

  Clearly, the government didn’t want this made public. After all, the experiments conducted inside that lab were highly classified projects—so classified that even Yan Qing, who belonged to the Fifth Division, didn’t know what research was being done there.

  But Chen, who had accidentally seen the specimens inside, developed intense interest in that laboratory and wanted to use it as a starting point to investigate how Lian. Xing. Lian had come to this universe—more precisely, how “they” had appeared on Earth.

  Suddenly, the sharp sound of a notification broke Yan Qing’s concentration. He glanced at his phone, eyes catching on the message displayed across the screen.

  Dear Professor, I am pleased to inform you that you are cleared to be back to onsite work starting from xx/xx/xxxx.

  Yan Qing’s gaze lingered on the date mentioned in the message. It was the day after tomorrow.

  He let out a soft, surprised sound. “Oh…”

  Three days later, 9:10 a.m., NASA Fifth Division Manhattan Office.

  The city was already humming by the time Yan Qing stepped out of the elevator at the Fifth Scientific Research Division. He wore his usual expression—calm, a little distracted, hair tied back in a loose knot that still managed to look unintentional.

  “Yan Qing!” Chris’s voice rang out from the end of the corridor. He was already waving, lab coat flapping, a folder clutched in one hand.

  Yan Qing smiled, quickening his pace. Chris was faster, closing the distance in a few long strides and pulling him into a hug that was more dramatic than necessary.

  “You’re finally back! My nightmare is over, my savior!” Chris clung to him, folder pressed between them.

  Yan Qing rolled his eyes and gently pried himself free. “Let me guess—you’ve got another report due and you still haven’t done it?”

  Chris grinned, unashamed. “You know me too well. Please, just this once?”

  Yan Qing gave him a look that said he’d heard this a hundred times before. “No.”

  Chris pouted, but fell in step beside him as they headed down the hall. “Come on, for the sake of our uni friendship! If I don’t hand this in, the new boss will hate me.”

  Yan Qing stopped short. “New boss?”

  Chris nearly collided with him. “Yeah, Chief Hollins took leave—family stuff, apparently. We’ve got a temp inspector coming in today.”

  Yan Qing frowned, the timing too neat for comfort. The fire at the underground lab, Hollins’s sudden disappearance—none of it sat right.

  Chris noticed the change in his expression. “Hey, you okay?”

  Yan Qing shook his head. “Just thinking. Who’s the new inspector?”

  “No idea. Haven’t met him yet.” Chris shrugged, then brightened. “So, about that report—”

  But Yan Qing was already moving again, lost in thought. They passed through the indoor garden, sunlight slanting across the floor, when three people approached from the other side.

  Two were familiar—Hollins’s secretary and an assistant. The third made Yan Qing stop in his tracks.

  Chen. Xing. Chen.

  He looked different in a suit, but the smile was unmistakable—mischievous, knowing. Yan Qing’s heart did a strange little flip.

  “Oh—Prof. Yan Qing, Chris, morning.” Shirley, the secretary, greeted them, cheeks pink.

  “Morning, Shirley,” Chris replied, flashing his most charming smile.

  Shirley turned to the man beside her. “Mr. Chen, these are our chief researchers. Chris Martin, and Professor William Yan Qing—our resident genius.”

  Chen extended his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you, Yan Qing. I’m Chen. I’ll be serving as inspector while Hollins is away. I hope we work well together.”

  Yan Qing shook his hand, squeezing a little harder than necessary. “The pleasure’s mine.” His smile was polite, but there was a glint in his eyes.

  Chen only smiled wider, then turned to Chris. “Glad to meet you too.”

  After exchange some pleasantries with Chris, Chen followed Shirley and the assistance down the corridor, the atmosphere shifted almost imperceptibly.

  Conversations faltered. A few heads turned. Someone missed a step and laughed it off too loudly.

  By the time Yan Qing reached his desk, the effect had already spread. Two junior researchers were whispering near the coffee machine, glancing toward the glass corridor every few seconds. A group chat pinged on his phone—new inspector???—followed by a photo taken far too obviously through a reflection.

  Even Shirley, normally brisk and professional, slowed her pace just enough to stay half a step closer than necessary.

  Chen didn’t seem to notice any of it. He listened when spoken to, smiled when smiled at, thanked people with infuriating sincerity. The kind of behavior that made people lean in without realizing they were doing it.

  Yan Qing sat down, logged into his terminal, and watched three different people invent excuses to pass by the inspector’s office within the span of ten minutes.

  He exhaled sharply through his nose.

  Unbelievable.

  Chris leaned over. “My god, this inspector is—”

  “Having an extremely punchable face, right?” Yan Qing muttered, still watching Chen’s retreating back.

  Chris elbowed him. “Don’t be jealous just because he’s gonna be more popular than you.”

  Yan Qing shot him a dangerous look. “Come again?”

  Chris raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything!”

  Later, Yan Qing found himself staring at the stack of reports Chris had left behind. He sighed, then started typing, the familiar rhythm of work settling over him.

  He didn’t notice Chen until a shadow fell across his desk.

  “What are you doing?” Chen asked, voice light.

  Yan Qing didn’t look up. “Writing a report, sir.”

  “You write reports at home, you write them here—aren’t you tired?”

  Yan Qing shrugged. “It’s my job.”

  Chen chuckled. “I don’t want to start abusing my subordinates right after taking office—not even giving them lunch.”

  Before Yan Qing could protest, Chen’s hand closed over his and pulled him up in one smooth motion. Yan Qing glared, but Chen only smiled, blinking innocently.

  It’s me— The thought brushed across Yan Qing’s mind, foreign but familiar.

  “Since I haven’t eaten either,” Chen said, “care to join me?”

  Yan Qing hesitated, then nodded. He let Chen lead him to the elevator, Chris watching with open curiosity.

  They ended up in a quiet café. Yan Qing was about to order coffee, but Chen cut in. “One green tea and one water, thank you.”

  The waitress blushed as she set down their drinks.

  “I have had enough green tea lately,” Yan Qing complained.

  “Coffee isn’t good for your heart,” Chen replied, taking a sip. “Especially these past few months. You should drink less.”

  Yan Qing rolled his eyes. “When did you become my doctor?”

  Chen ignored the sarcasm. “Just stating facts.” He set his cup down and, without warning, took Yan Qing’s hand again. Yan Qing tried to pull away, but Chen held on, gaze steady.

  —I want to tell you why I’m here—

  The thought was clear, echoing in Yan Qing’s mind.

  Chen nodded, then continued, silent but insistent.

  —In that underground lab, I found information and technology that shouldn’t exist in your universe. I suspect my people aren’t the only civilization to have reached this world—

  Yan Qing’s breath caught. The implications spun in his mind.

  Chen’s eyes closed for a moment, then opened.

  —If I’m right, there are other outsiders here. And I want to know who they are and what they want—

  Yan Qing barely noticed when Chen let go of his hand.

  “How’s the tea?” Chen asked, flashing a dazzling smile as if nothing had happened.

  Yan Qing stared at him, mind racing. He realized, suddenly, that the world was much bigger—and far more dangerous—than he’d ever imagined.

  What Chen told Yan Qing was extremely broad, and behind it lay a whole chain of questions—like why certain unexpected clues in his discovery faintly pointed to “their” existence—

  A civilization that ranked first on the “most dangerous species” list in the universe Chen came from—an intelligent species Chen had once led an army to wipe out—

  Specie Code: Fenreiga.