Page 10

Kai and my brother had people watching over me before. Their so-called security team had always been discreet—comforting, even. But this… this felt different. Unsettling.

Wendy still had questions—I could feel them hanging in the air, thick and heavy. Her stern stare burned into the side of my face, and I kept my eyes fixed ahead, avoiding hers. I wasn’t an overly private person, but there were certain things I preferred to keep to myself.

“What do you want to do next?”

Funny that she should ask. Wasn’t she the one who supposedly had all the answers? My brother and Chloe certainly seemed to think so.

“You tell me! You’re the one with all the connections.”

“What do you mean?”

I rolled my eyes, irritation prickling at the edges of my patience.

“I don’t know,” I snapped. “Check your little black book—maybe you’ve got a contact in the black market, or a mafia boss who owes you a favor.”

“Fuck you.”

“Thank you very much. Fuck you, too.”

We marched down the street, power-walking with no real destination.

If my pace got any faster, I’d be jogging.

Wendy trailed beside me, her steps quick and deliberate, matching my speed.

She didn’t push—didn’t press me for answers.

Instead, she followed quietly, like a patient mother waiting for her stroppy teenager to burn off an unreasonable tantrum.

Except I wasn’t the tantrum-throwing type.

Well… that was a lie.

My version of a tantrum was quieter—subtle enough that no one usually noticed. But right now? Right now, I wasn’t sure I could hide it.

I didn’t know exactly how I was feeling. But it felt good—almost freeing—to finally let my emotions out. To be angry. To be scared.

“Can we slow down?” Wendy asked at last, her voice breaking the tense silence.

I had no idea how to pull us out of the awkward moment I’d created by snapping at her.

Bless her beautiful soul for not walking away.

We came to a stop at a busy crossroad, standing beside a group of students in crisp uniforms. They laughed and chatted, each holding an ice cream cone or a cup of boba tea, blissfully unaware of the storm swirling inside me.

“I thought this would be easy,” Wendy continued, brushing a stray hair from her face. “But this… this is out of my hands.”

Her words cut through me like a knife.

“So, does that mean you’re going to leave me?” My voice trembled despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

“No, of course not.” She hesitated, biting her lip.

“May… may—” she stuttered, struggling to find the right words, “maybe we should both walk away from this. Leave this place.”

“Leave Kai?” I turned to face her fully, scanning her expression for any sign that she was joking—or losing her mind.

“Yes, and no,” she replied softly. “Maybe we could go home and get help from there.”

“Going home means losing time, Wendy. Kai could be in real danger.” My heart pounded harder at the thought. Every second felt like it could be the difference between saving him—or being too late.

“I know,” she sighed. “But my friends—our friends—are back home. My contacts here… they’re not as deep as you think.”

I exhaled a heavy sigh, the weight of our helplessness pressing against my chest. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

Her expression softened. “But you obviously know someone here.”

Her large brown eyes locked onto mine, searching—waiting. The urge to confess swelled inside me, pushing against the walls I’d built around the truth.

“I wish I could tell you everything,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But there’s no time.”

As reluctant as I felt, Wendy had put herself on the line to protect me. I owed her at least the basics—the truth she needed to fully understand what we were really up against.

She reached out and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can trust me.”

A gust of wind hit me square in the face—because, of course, it did. If this were a movie, this would be the moment where the hero or heroine faced the truth—the kind of truth that had always been their biggest problem of their life.

Trust issues.

I never pretended to be a perfect person. And as if my list of flaws wasn’t long enough, Wendy had just added a new one to it.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

I lied.

Ten seconds ago, it wouldn’t have felt like a lie. It would’ve rolled off my tongue naturally—sounding convincing, at least to myself. And, at that point, it would’ve been true. I hadn’t even realized that I didn’t trust Wendy. Or anyone, for that matter.

Was that normal? Did other people feel like that?

“I get it.” Wendy’s warm hand slid onto my shoulder, her fingers moving in slow, comforting strokes. “I know we don’t really know each other.”

“We don’t.”

“I’m only here as a favor to Rox—well Chloe.”

“That’s right.” My voice sharpened despite myself. See? My trust issues weren’t irrational—she had just admitted she wasn’t there for me.

“Don’t we all do things we don’t want to for people we love?”

Her bluntness hit me harder than the wind, landing with a sting no breeze could match.

I dipped my head in a small nod, unsure how to respond. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Actually, I didn’t want to come in the first place.”

Ouch.

“Then why are you here?” My voice came out quieter than I intended, the words laced with a vulnerability I couldn’t quite hide.

“Can we get a boba? I’m thirsty.”

I blinked at her sudden change of subject. “Drink your water—boba isn’t going to hydrate you.”

“I want a boba.” She crossed her arms defiantly. “I’m getting a boba whether you like it or not.”

And just like that, the tension cracked—if only a little.

I hated her for wasting my time. Fantasies flickered through my mind—sprinting down the back alley, flagging down a random taxi, even stealing a motorcycle from a stranger.

Any escape would do. But instead, I stayed rooted to the spot, waiting as Wendy strolled toward the boba shop with an inflatable snowman bobbing beside the entrance.

When she came back, her face was lit up with a big self-satisfied grin. She dug into her latest conquest—a brown sugar sundae—spooning white, velvety ice cream dotted with black tapioca pearls into her mouth.

“This has to be my new favorite sundae.”

“I thought you wanted a drink.”

She pointed with her spoon toward the sealed plastic cup tucked securely in the cup holder hanging off the side of her bag.

“Got one. Multitasking, babe.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back the urge to snap. Time was slipping away, and she was acting like we were on a carefree vacation.

“I used to think you were boring.”

Her words caught me off guard. My head snapped towards her. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, you know,” she said casually, scooping up another bite. “You grew up in that perfect little family. Your doctor family… all prestigious and proper. If you were a real white bitch, I would’ve totally ignored you.”

“You can’t say that—it’s racist.”

“Oh, come on. We’re not in America. People with money have it easy, and bonus points if you’re white. But I know you’re mixed or something, and you lived in New York, so I guess that evens things out.”

I scoffed under my breath. She had no idea how many patients had walked out on me the moment they realized my face didn’t match my surname.

“Your point being?”

I glanced down, brushing my sleeve over my wrist in a subtle, impatient gesture—only to realize I wasn’t even wearing a watch. Perfect.

“Well, when I heard about your dirty little secret at the dirty little tart shop,” Wendy said, shoveling another heaping spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, “ohh la la, turns out you’re a naughty girl. That’s when I decided this trip might actually be worth my while.”

I rolled my eyes. “So, you’re here for what? Gossip?”

“No. Maybe a little.” She grinned, unbothered by my irritation. “But all that drama makes you interesting. And that means I actually like you now.”

“Perfect, why don’t I feel like that’s a compliment?”

“It doesn’t?” She blinked innocently.

“No.”

“Well, it should.” With a flourish, she tossed the empty plastic cup into the trash outside the shop, as if she had just solved all our problems.

“Can we get on with our day?” My tone came out sharper than I intended—impatient, clipped. A tone I knew all too well, no doubt inherited from my own mother.

Wendy, of course, wasn’t fazed. “Well, if you’d just open your little black book, maybe you’d already have that travel document by now.”

She shrugged, her voice light and teasing but with an edge of seriousness. “But if you don’t want to, maybe we should focus on finding a hotel first. Get some rest, clear our heads a little?—”

Her voice faded into a rambling monologue, a stream of words I barely registered.

One thing, however, stood out. We had landed and rushed straight out of the airport without giving a single thought to accommodations. In my mind, getting a fake ID was supposed to be quick—like one of those one-hour photo places back home. I hadn’t planned on staying here longer than half a day.

But we couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

Without hesitation, I stepped to the curb and waved down a red cab flashing a vacant sign.

“Where are we going?” Wendy asked, sliding into the cab.

“Just get in.” I ducked under the doorframe and followed her inside.

“I’m so glad you finally agreed to go to a hotel,” she quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I ignored her and leaned forward, speaking to the driver in my best attempt at Cantonese. “Kamsha Dai Ha.”

The driver twisted around, his weathered face shifting between me and Wendy before his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Where you going?” he asked, his tone sharp.

I repeated myself, slower this time. “Kam. Sha. Dai. Ha.”

The old man sucked his teeth and let out a sound that resembled an annoyed “ hiya.” After a heavy pause, he grumbled something under his breath, then shifted the cab into gear and pulled into traffic.

“What’s his problem.” Wendy muttered, watching the city blur past the window.

“Well…” I hesitated, “The place we’re going—it’s supposed to be the most haunted building in all of Hong Kong.”

Her head snapped toward me. “What? Why?”

Before I could answer, the driver cut in, his voice gruff. “I also ask you why.”

He jabbed a finger toward the rearview mirror, his expression a mix of disbelief and concern. “You go in… you don’t come out.”

His words hung heavy in the air and I wasn’t sure if he was trying to scare us or if he genuinely believed it.

The drive only took ten minutes, but each passing second stretched unbearably long. I stole a glance at Wendy, wondering if she was rattled. She looked calm—too calm—but I couldn’t tell if that was bravado or genuine indifference.

Meanwhile, the driver quietly chanted under his breath. “ O-Nei-Tou-Fat… O-Nei-Tou-Fat…” The repetitive rhythm prickled my nerves. If I remembered correctly—thanks to the endless Kung Fu movies my brothers forced me to sit through—it was a Buddhist mantra meant to ward off evil spirits. Comforting.

When the cab finally jerked to a stop, the driver didn’t bother to hide his relief. “You’re here.”

His knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

I looked out the window at the looming shadow of Kamsha Dai Ha. Even in the daylight, the building seemed to pulse with an eerie, unwelcoming energy.

“How much is it?” I asked, pulling out two one-hundred notes—more than enough to cover the fare.

“You know what? Just keep the change.”

Instead of taking the money, the driver shoved my hand away, his face pale. “I don’t want your money. If you die inside, don’t come looking for me.”

“Cheery,” Wendy quipped, because of course. She couldn’t help herself. I was beginning to realize that no matter the situation—whether it was life-threatening or just plain awkward—her instinct was always to crack a joke.

“I’m sorry.” The rasp in the driver’s voice, paired with slight tremor, sent a chill crawling up my spine. His fear wasn’t an act—it was raw, real, and contagious. The moment our doors slammed shut, he stomped on the gas, peeling away like the devil himself was at his heels.

We stood in silence, staring up at the decaying tower looming before us.

The building was as uninviting as the driver’s warning. Its once-white facade was now a patchwork of grime and neglect. The foyer’s outer walls were smeared with graffiti—some of it crude drawings of penises, others angry Chinese scrawled in blood-red paint.

“Fuck,” Wendy muttered, her voice low but sharp. “This place definitely looks haunted.”

Her already large eyes widened even further, pupils blown dark with something between awe and unease.

“You scared?” I asked, though the words barely left my throat.

She grinned. “I’m excited.”

Of course, she was.