Page 51 of The Oyabun's Boy

My eyes felt like they'd been scrubbed with sandpaper, and my back ached from sitting in the same position for so long, but I refused to move. Moving meant potentially missing something. Moving meant admitting defeat. Moving meant accepting that each passing hour decreased the likelihood of finding Kenji alive.

"Where are you?" I whispered to the screens, my voice raw from the same question repeated through the night. "Where the hell are you, Kenji?"

Chairman Meow stirred in my lap, his ears perking up before I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Multiple sets, moving quickly.

I straightened in the chair, ignoring the protest of stiff muscles. On one of the screens, I could see a corridor within the tower itself, where Lin was practically running, flanked by two guards.

His appearance made my breath catch—the usually immaculate house chief looked like he'd been through a war zone. His tie hung loose and askew, his hair stuck up at odd angles, and there was a dark smear on his sleeve that looked horribly like dried blood.

My stomach dropped as I realized they were heading for the command center—for me.

The door burst open seconds later, Lin's normally calm demeanor fractured by urgency and something that looked terrifyingly like dread.

"Blood match confirmed," he announced without preamble, his voice tight with controlled emotion. "It's his."

The world seemed to stop, those three words hanging in the air like a death sentence. Blood match confirmed. It's his. Kenji's blood, found somewhere in this vast city. Spilled by someone who wanted him dead.

I didn't realize I was screaming until I felt the burn in my throat, the raw scrape of air over vocal cords pushed beyond their limit. Chairman Meow leapt from my lap with a startled yowl as I doubled over, the pain in my chest too acute to remain upright.

Kenji's blood. Kenji bleeding. Kenji hurt. Kenji dying. Kenji dead.

The thoughts circled like vultures, each one tearing another piece of my sanity away.

A hand landed on my shoulder, steady and firm. I looked up through vision blurred by exhaustion and tears I hadn't realized I was shedding to find Chen standing beside me. His face remained composed, but his eyes—usually cold and calculating—held something I'd never seen in them before: fear.

"We'll find him," Chen promised, his voice steady despite the emotion I could see he was fighting to contain. "The blood sample was small. A cut, perhaps, not a fatal wound."

But we both knew he was lying—or at least, stretching the truth to its breaking point. A small blood sample could still mean Kenji was bleeding out somewhere. Could still mean torture. Could still mean death, just slower.

"Where?" I managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper. "Where did you find it?"

Lin exchanged a glance with Chen, some unspoken communication passing between them.

"An abandoned warehouse in Red Hook," Lin finally answered. "One of our informants spotted unusual activity and investigated. They found signs of a struggle and... evidence that theOyabunhad been there."

"Take me there," I demanded, pushing to my feet so suddenly that Chen's hand fell from my shoulder.

"Absolutely not," Chen replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It's an active investigation site and potentially still dangerous. You will remain here where you're safe."

"Safe?" I laughed, the sound harsh and broken even to my own ears. "What the hell is safe? Kenji is out there somewhere, bleeding, maybe dying, and you want me to stay here and what—watch more useless security footage? Count ceiling tiles?"

Chen's expression didn't change, but his posture shifted subtly—the way I imagined a cobra might tense before striking."TheOyabunleft explicit instructions regarding your safety. Those instructions do not include field exposure during an active crisis."

Of course he did. Even missing—maybe dying—Kenji was still trying to control everything, still trying to protect me.

The thought sent fresh pain lancing through my chest. I sank back into the command chair, suddenly too exhausted to stand, much less argue. Chairman Meow immediately jumped back into my lap, pressing his head against my hand as if demanding attention, demanding I focus on something other than the growing despair.

Lin stepped forward, his normally pristine appearance making his current dishevelment all the more jarring. "We have our best people analyzing the scene. The blood evidence suggests theOyabunwas alive when he left the warehouse. There's a trail we're following."

A trail. Like an injured animal leaving a path of blood for predators to follow. The image made me nauseous.

"How much blood?" I asked, unable to stop myself. "How much did you find?"

Another exchanged glance between Chen and Lin. Another silent debate about how much to tell me.

"Not enough to indicate a fatal injury," Lin finally said. "But enough to suggest he was... incapacitated."

Incapacitated. Such a clinical word for beaten. Stabbed. Shot. Tortured.