Her eyes fluttered briefly before snapping open, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She scanned the unfamiliar room, her gaze locking onto the IV tube attached to her hand. She was in a hospital gown. The last thing she remembered was being in that hotel room—a trap, she realized now, expertly set. Her brow furrowed. Whoever was behind it hadn’t wanted to kill her right away. They wanted her alive for something worse. But who was it? The thought gnawed at her, an uneasy feeling tightening in her chest. She wasn’t afraid of him but the uncertainty unsettled her. She had to leave. Now. She tried to move but a sharp pain shot through her stomach, forcing a grimace. Pulling the gown aside, she saw the bandage. Of course, she thought. But if she fell into that man’s hands, this wound would be the least of her concerns. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself out of bed. She pulled the IV as she sat up, blood dripping to the floor. She ignored it, staggering toward the window, one hand
The next day, the nurse came in to check on Lijun. After checking on her, she nodded to herself and stepped out. As she closed the door behind her, she stopped, startled by the sight of a girl standing there, staring blankly at the door. The girl looked young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, dressed in a school uniform, with short bobbed hair and blunt bangs. There was something unnerving about her—an unsettling stillness that made the nurse unease. If Lijun had seemed strange, this girl felt like something entirely different. “How is she?” the girl asked, her voice flat, devoid of any warmth. The nurse hesitated, unsure how much she should say, but the girl turned her head slightly, her eyes cutting into her. “She’s my sister.” “Oh—uh, yes, you can see her,” the nurse stammered. “She’s doing well.” Without another word, the girl turned toward the door and opened it, stepping inside without even a glance back at the nurse. The girl, Evelyn Lin, stood just inside the room, her pale
Rogan dragged Lian to the doctor for a checkup. It wasn’t unusual—Rogan constantly worried about Lian’s Congenital Insensitivity to Pain (CIP) condition and took it upon himself to force him into these appointments. Lian would have refused, but today he had something else on his mind, something he needed Rogan’s help with. He needed to find the envelope he’d left in the car the night of the ambush, and more importantly, he needed information on Riley. There was something off about her, and it gnawed at him. After the appointment, Rogan dragged him to an internet café, completely ignoring Lian’s reluctance. "Why don’t you just play at home?" Lian asked, genuinely puzzled. Rogan’s family was loaded, and he had the best gaming setup imaginable, yet he still preferred these dingy, crowded cafés. Rogan scoffed, his face scrunched in disbelief. "You kiddin’ me? My mom’s a freakin’ control freak, man. She gives me, like, one hour—one hour! What can I do with that?" They settled into thei
When the world was a swirling mess of questions and surprises, Rochelle was jogging on a treadmill, her gaze fixed on the same viral video playing over and over. Each time it replayed, her smile grew wider, her eyes gleaming with a hint of madness. Her body, sculpted and gleaming with sweat, finally came to a halt as she stopped the machine and burst out laughing. The room echoed with her laughter—empty except for herself. Lucky, too, or else anyone watching might think she was insane. Which, in a way, she was. "Oh, what a way to start the day!" she giggled, wiping away tears of laughter. With a sharp snap of her fingers, she grinned. “Now, where should I start? No, no—I'm dying to see her face.” Humming with excitement, Rochelle bolted for the shower. The music blared loud enough to rattle the walls, and her voice, off-key but confident, filled the bathroom as she sang at the top of her lungs. Her mood had shifted so drastically, anyone would have thought she’d won the lottery. Mo
Lijun was rushed into the operating room, her survival already a miracle. Everyone assumed she was near death. Outside, Rochelle paced the hallway, her mind a whirlwind of confusion. How had things spiraled so quickly? Everything had shifted in the blink of an eye. She’d received a call earlier—shouting, chaos—and then Lijun had fallen from the floor above. Rochelle slumped into a chair, burying her face in her hands. She felt like she was on the verge of losing control, but beneath the panic, an odd thrill buzzed inside her. The mystery was unraveling. Her gaze turned toward the operating room. "You have to live," she whispered, her voice more of a command than a plea. Lijun’s survival was the key to solving this mess. Suddenly, a shadow loomed over her. Rochelle looked up to see a young girl standing in front of her—bobbed hair, bangs, and eyes that burned with intensity. "Was it you?" the girl asked, her voice steady, but her gaze lethal. "Did you do this to my sister?" Roche
Lian was trying to throw together something for dinner when a sharp knock broke the quiet. His muscles tensed immediately. Jake had finally found him. He clenched the handle of the knife he’d been using to chop vegetables, cursing silently. If he had the money, he would have moved long ago. He edged cautiously to the door. Peering through the peephole, he breathed a sigh of relief. Rogan stood there, looking far too casual with a grin plastered across his face and a box of pizza raised in one hand. Lian unlocked the door, his body still buzzing with leftover tension. Rogan pushed past Lian into the small apartment like he owned the place. Moments later, they sat squashed together on the cramped couch, eating straight from the box. “So, let me get this straight,” Rogan said through a mouthful of pizza. “Scupper, gave you a hotel address, and then—BOOM?” Lian leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. "I’ve told you the same story three times, Rogan. You gonna take this seriously
A young girl, no more than five years old, stood in the middle of a barren field, her small hands gripping a metal plate raised high above her head. Her innocent eyes gazed forward, void of fear, as though she was completely unaware of the danger that lay ahead. In front of her stood three middle-aged men, their faces twisted in amusement. Each of them held a gun, but one of them stepped forward, lifting his weapon to aim directly at her. "Bet you can't even hit the plate," one of the men jeered, his laughter cruel and hollow. The girl remained eerily still, her face devoid of any reaction. Her expression was blank, almost as if she wasn't there. There was something unsettling about her composure, something unnatural in the way her craziness, making it all the more disturbing. Without hesitation, the man with the gun fired. The loud bang of the shot echoed across the field, and in that instant, Lijun jolted awake, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Her eyes flew open, wide
The hospital hallways were quiet, too quiet for Rochelle's liking. The early morning light spilled through the narrow windows as she arrived at the secret facility, humming a tune that was slightly off-key, her steps almost bouncing in a twisted joy. Three months. Three long months since Lin Lijun had fallen into a coma. In that time, they had moved her from hospital to hospital, each more secure than the last, to keep her safe from those who wanted her dead. But Rochelle wasn’t here to protect Lijun out of kindness. No, Lijun needed to wake up—she had to pay for her crimes. “A criminal shouldn’t die before they pay,” Rochelle muttered under her breath, her eyes wide with anticipation as she pushed open the door to Lijun’s room. The bed was empty. Her heart skipped a beat, a thin thread of panic and excitement twisting together. She scanned the room until her gaze landed on a figure slumped on the floor, long hair obscuring half her face, leaning weakly against the bed. Rochelle