The night breeze brushed against Assad's face, a chilly reminder that the world was still out there unfortunately. The air still smelled faintly of ash. His jacket was torn where the fire had kissed it, the fabric crisped and black. Every breath made his ribs ache like old wood cracking.
"You know," he muttered, tugging his collar higher, "for someone who moves like a ballerina, she hits like a cement truck."
Mya tried to hold back her laughter but ended up snorting. "You kinda had it coming."
"Excuse me?" Assad turned, feigning offense. "I just got kicked into next week, and you're taking her side?"
Mya shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Well, she did win."
Assad stopped mid-step, giving her the kind of slow, betrayed look that belonged in a Shakespeare play. "Wow. The betrayal. Et tu, Mya?"
She burst out laughing. They kept walking. The cracked street beneath them glittered with puddles that caught the dying neon lights like fractured mirrors. The city hummed low — a broken machine still trying to breathe.
After a quiet stretch, Mya's voice softened. "...She really said her master could help me. Do you think she was serious?"
Assad shoved his hands into his pockets. "She was serious," he said after a beat. "But she didn't say how. People like her never do anything for free. One minute you're sipping tea in a mansion, and the next, you're tied up in a basement."
"So she was lying?"
He smirked, gaze still forward. "I'm saying she was selling you a fairytale wrapped in a pretty bow with a trapdoor hidden underneath."
Mya frowned and looked down. The humor between them faded into something gentler. Assad glanced at her, sighed, and his voice lost its edge. "Hey," he said quietly. "Don't worry. We'll find another way to get your sisters back."
She looked up at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. "You really mean that?"
He grinned faintly. "Of course. Assuming Taura doesn't take me out before sunrise."
Mya laughed, but the sound faltered when a faint metallic click echoed from somewhere behind them.
Assad's smile vanished.
The breeze stilled.
"...Guess sunrise's coming early," he muttered.
The door creaked open with a metallic groan, and a cloud of cigarette smoke billowed out before either of them stepped inside.
Shuren lounged behind her desk like a queen on a rusty throne, her feet propped up, one hand casually holding a cigarette while the other scrolled through a file on her holo-pad.
Assad and Taura stood in front of her desk like kids waiting for a stern lecture.
Without glancing up, Shuren spoke, her voice smooth yet sharp enough to slice through the tension. "So," she exhaled, letting a slow stream of smoke curl toward the ceiling, "what happened?"
Taura, surprisingly composed, crossed her arms. "We lost the briefcases."
Shuren finally lifted her gaze just a fraction. Her eyes caught the light, revealing nothing. "Is that so?"
She took another drag, leaned back, and let the smoke drift out in a lazy spiral. Then her attention shifted to Assad. "You failed your first mission, huh?"
Her tone was calm too calm a kind that made your stomach twist. "After all that bravado you were spouting earlier."
Assad's shoulders tensed. The air between them felt heavier than the smoke. He looked down slightly, his voice steady but low. "I take full responsibility," he said. "It won't happen again. I… ask for your forgiveness."
Shuren leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking under her weight. "Yeah, whatever," she muttered, flicking ash into the overflowing tray. "Taura, give me the rest of the report."
Taura nodded. "The deal was handled by a maid."
Shuren raised an eyebrow, smoke curling from her lips. "A maid?"
Taura confirmed, "Yes, ma'am. She looked like an ordinary house servant, but the way she moved… it wasn't normal. Too precise. Too calm."
Shuren's eyes narrowed as she processed this. "So, the SAZ master didn't show up, huh?"
Before she could elaborate, Assad's voice sliced through the haze of smoke. "That's because it wasn't SAZ."
The room went still.
Taura blinked. "What?"
Shuren turned her head slowly toward Assad, her expression unreadable, but the weight of her silence was enough to suck the air out of the room. "What did you just say?"
Assad straightened, realizing he'd just interrupted the one person you definitely don't interrupt. "Sorry, ma'am," he said quickly. "But I'm sure that wasn't SAZ."
Shuren's tone dropped to an icy chill. "You better explain that before I start thinking you've lost your damn mind."
Assad took a breath, his eyes flickering with that calculating gleam returning. "It wasn't SAZ," he repeated. "It was JABE."
She stubbed out her cigarette and reached for another. "Assad, tell me everything you saw."
Assad straightened his posture, the faint hum of the ceiling fan the only sound in the smoky room. "One of the briefcases," he began, his voice low but steady, "didn't have the drug SAZ in it."
Shuren arched an eyebrow. "Then what did it have?"
Assad met her gaze. "JABE."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Taura's head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Wait, you're saying JABE was in the briefcase? That's impossible."
Assad shook his head. "Not literally. I mean the product, the drug itself. It was JABE."
Shuren tapped her cigarette against the edge of the ashtray, the sound crisp in the tense atmosphere.
"Go on."
"I found myself face to face with the one making the deal," Assad continued. "A maid. She said her name was Mischa Chikae."
Taura frowned, repeating the name softly to herself. "Never heard of her."
Assad nodded. "Same here. But what really caught my attention wasn't her; it was who she works for."
Shuren's eyes narrowed just a bit, her voice still steady. "And who would that be?"
Assad paused for a moment, the memory flashing in his mind the woman's bow, her icy politeness, and that one name she spoke as if it were a title. "She said… she's the maid of someone named Zheng Yan."
The reaction was immediate.
Taura froze. "Zheng Yan? You can't be serious."
Even Shuren halted mid-inhale. The tip of her cigarette glowed red for a heartbeat longer before she exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "Are you absolutely sure that's what you heard?" she asked quietly, each word carefully chosen.
Assad nodded once. "I'm sure."
Shuren leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable as a thin trail of smoke curled from her lips. The atmosphere in the room grew heavier with each passing second.
"If that's the case…" she finally said, her tone calm too calm, "then we need to take action."
She let her words linger in the air, the smoke swirling lazily above her head. The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly felt deafening.
Her gaze shifted—sharp and cold—toward the couch at the far end of the room. Mya sat there, knees pressed together, hands trembling in her lap. Her face was pale, her breath uneven. She looked like she wanted to sink into the cushions and disappear.
"So," Shuren said, tilting her head slightly, "what's going on over there?"
Mya's lips parted, but no words came out. Her voice caught in her throat. She tried again, but only a faint, broken sound escaped.
Assad watched her, his expression tightening. He could see it clearly—the way her fingers gripped the fabric of her skirt, the way her shoulders trembled.