The Ghosts didn't knock. The first sound was a low, powerful thud against the door, immediately followed by the wet, grating scrape of obsidian claws testing the lock assembly. They were precise, professional, and terrifyingly fast. The multiple signatures on Lei's phone had converged into a single, massive threat right outside the door.
He had seconds.
Lei snatched the silver data chip off the phone's reader and shoved it deep into a stitched pocket in his jacket lining. The phone was useless now—a beacon that had broadcast its fatal location. He hurled it under the bed, where the mattress springs would hopefully mute its residual static discharge.
The front door groaned under pressure.
He spun toward the bedroom. The only exit was the window, leading to the precarious fire escape. He had to create a diversionary acoustic event—a massive noise elsewhere to draw their attention the moment they breached the apartment.
His eyes fell on the heavy, ceramic-cased electric kettle on the counter. It was dense, loud, and perfect.
Lei grabbed the kettle and sprinted back to the bedroom. He had already used the cobblestone, but he needed something massive this time. He wrapped the heavy kettle in the remaining acoustic foam tape, muting its external surfaces, then bound it with thick rubber bands from Mei's desk.
The front door splintered. A dark, segmented limb punched through the wood, feeling the air, its movements chillingly deliberate.
Lei rushed to the window, silently sliding the heavy glass pane open. The metal runners made a soft shush sound, but it was unavoidable. He braced himself against the frame.
He glanced back at the hole in the front door. The Ghost was pushing its entire shoulder through, its black form seeming to absorb the dim light of the hallway. It let out that same chilling, high-pitched chirp—the hunter's confirmation—aimed directly at the spot where Lei had been standing moments before.
Lei needed a guaranteed distraction, something so loud and so final that the Ghosts wouldn't bother checking the silent window.
He reached for the kettle, then saw the cobblestone—the same one he used to distract Alpha-9 in the street. It was still in his bag.
Lei took the cobblestone and placed it on the floor next to the window. He put the foam-wrapped kettle on top of it. He positioned the weighted phone charger cable, threading it carefully under the kettle's base, making sure he could yank it from the fire escape and send the whole assembly crashing to the floor in a moment of maximum chaos.
He climbed out onto the fire escape landing, the cold metal biting into his padded boots. He was hanging twelve stories above the concrete, the Quiet Hours holding their breath around him.
The Ghost was now fully inside the apartment, a terrifying silhouette in the gloom. It moved with unnatural speed, navigating the cluttered living room floor without sound, feeling the air for the subtle disturbances left by Lei's passage.
Now.
Lei yanked the charger cable.
The sound was phenomenal. The ceramic kettle, despite the foam, shattered against the heavy cobblestone below, creating a deafening crash and grind that echoed through the confined space. The noise didn't just break the silence; it tore it.
The Ghost instantly stopped moving toward the window. Its segmented head snapped violently toward the source of the crash, the shattered remnants of the kettle. It didn't hesitate. With a low, hissing sound of intense focus, it lunged past the window, straight for the pile of noise.
Lei wasted no time. He moved, not down, but up, towards the roof. He scrambled onto the fire escape ladder, ascending three full flights as quickly and quietly as his training allowed.
He reached the roof access door, which was thankfully just a latch, and eased himself onto the vast, flat expanse of the building top. He paused, looking down.
He saw the Ghost. It wasn't interested in the window anymore. It was still in the apartment, violently tearing apart the source of the crash, its attention absolutely fixed on the acoustic remnants.
Mei was right. They weren't hunting him; they were hunting the sound. The moment a louder, more chaotic sound appeared, Lei ceased to exist to them.
But as he looked across the rooftops toward the distant Tianhe financial district, a new terror bloomed in his chest. In the alley below, illuminated faintly by a flickering street lamp, was a dark vehicle—an unmarked sedan. Standing next to it were two men in black tactical gear, illuminated only by the faint red dots of their night-vision goggles. They weren't looking at the Ghost-torn window. They were looking at the roof access, the direction of his escape.
These were the human hunters. The ones who searched. The ones who had forced Mei to hide the chip. The government knew he was here, and they didn't need sound to find him.