Silence. That landed because it was true. Because it meant—if she had it, they would already be too late.

The man’s grip tightened. Not uncertainty. Recalculation.

Then another shift from the opposite side. More movement—different, sharper, heavier. Lu Shaohan’s men. They didn’t rush in. They closed in. Angles covered. Lines drawn. Not loud. But absolute.

The balance tilted.

The man with the gun noticed. His eyes flicked once past her. Measured. Counted. Understood.

So. She wasn’t alone.

Interesting.

"Not here," he said quietly—not to her, but to his own men. A decision. The gun didn’t lower, but it shifted slightly. Enough to show this wasn’t over.

"You’ll find it," he continued, his gaze returning to her, cold and certain. "Or we will." A pause. "And when we do—"

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. Because the meaning was already in the air. Heavy. Fatal.

Then he stepped back. Slow. Controlled. His men moved with him. Not retreating—withdrawing. Like something unfinished.

The space opened again. But it wasn’t safe. It was marked.

The light turned green. Cars behind surged forward. Noise returned. Movement resumed. As if nothing had happened.

Inside the car, no one spoke. The guards didn’t relax. They stayed ready. Because now they understood: this wasn’t an incident. This was a line crossed.

Su Wan sat exactly as she had before. Still. But her thoughts were no longer aligned.

A watch. People are willing to kill for it. People are already positioned for it. And a past she didn’t fully know.

"Madam..." The guard’s voice was lower now. "Do we—"

"Drive." Flat. No hesitation.

The car moved. But this time, the city didn’t feel the same. Because somewhere inside it, a piece existed worth blood. And somehow, it had already been tied to her.

The car stopped. No delay. No hesitation. Su Wan stepped out and walked inside.

The door opened. They were already alert—Li Chen at the window, the other man by the wall. They hadn’t expected her back. That showed.

She didn’t greet them. Didn’t explain.

"Search." Flat. A pause. "For a watch."

Silence. They looked at her once. Li Chen spoke. "...What kind?"

Su Wan didn’t answer immediately because she couldn’t. Her gaze shifted slightly. "I don’t know." A beat. "Find anything that fits."

That changed the search. It was no longer targeted. It was wide. Drawers opened. Closets checked. Shelves cleared. Everything that could resemble anything. Because now the problem wasn’t finding it. The problem was: they didn’t know what they were looking for.

The second man stopped first. He picked something up from a shelf—a watch. Dark face. Minimal. Clean. He turned and held it out. "This?"

Su Wan looked. And for a second, the room held. Because she couldn’t say. It could be. Or not.

She stepped forward, took it, and turned it between her fingers. Weight. Finish. Edges. Nothing answered her. No signal. No reaction. Just a watch.

Li Chen watched her. "...Is it?"

Silence. Su Wan’s fingers stilled. "I don’t know."

And that was the most dangerous answer in the room. Because now anything could be it. Or nothing.

She placed it on the table. And in that exact moment, Li Chen’s head snapped toward the door.

"Move."

Too late. The first shot came through the glass—sharp, precise. The watch shattered. Metal fragments were scattered across the floor. Not random. Chosen. They had seen it. They had assumed. Wrong—or not. They didn’t care.

The room snapped into motion. The table flipped. Cover. Su Wan was pulled back—hard. Another shot, closer. The door frame splintered. Not chaos. Pressure. Controlled entry.

"They followed you." Li Chen didn’t look at her. Didn’t need to.

Su Wan said nothing. Because she already knew.

More movement outside. Shadows shifting. Measured. Professional.

"They don’t know what it looks like either." The second man spoke, low and certain. "And that’s worse."

Because that meant everything was a target. Everything was disposable.

Another shot. Returned this time. Clean. A body dropped outside. Silence—brief. Then the movement again.

"They’re testing reactions." Li Chen’s voice dropped further. "Objects. People. Position." A pause. "If you hesitate—"

He didn’t finish. Because the result was already happening.

Su Wan’s gaze shifted to the shattered watch. Pieces. Worth nothing. But still enough to trigger this. Her fingers curled slightly. So. Not about certainty. About the possibility. Which meant the real one could be anywhere. Hidden. Or already gone.

Gunfire slowed. Not ended. Recalculated.

"They got what they needed." The second man exhaled once. "They know you’re searching."

That was worse than finding it.

Su Wan stood behind cover. Still. Her hand rested over her stomach—not fear, but an anchor. Her gaze lifted, colder now, sharper.

She didn’t know what the watch was. She didn’t know where it was. But now everyone knew she was connected to it. And that made her the target.

Gunfire didn’t stop. It intensified. Not wild. Controlled pressure. Shots layered over each other. Glass shattered. Walls cracked. The apartment collapsed into noise.

Another shot tore through the wall. Closer.

"Move." A hand caught her arm—firm. Lu Shaohan’s guard. No hesitation. "This place is compromised." Flat. Final.

Li Chen moved first, clearing the path. The second man followed, covering. They exited fast. Not running. Extracting.

The corridor echoed—footsteps, gunfire behind them. Down the stairs. Controlled descent. Because panic was death.

Behind them, the apartment remained open. Unsecured. For seconds. That was enough.

A shadow slipped inside. Silent. Precise. He didn’t search. Didn’t hesitate. He went straight to the table, to the broken pieces. The watch—or what they thought might be it. His hand moved. Swept the fragments. Picked the largest intact piece. No inspection. No confirmation. Just a decision.

Gone. As quickly as he came.

Outside, Su Wan reached the car. Doors opened. "Madam, inside." No delay. She entered. The guards closed in, weapons still drawn. "The apartment is compromised." Final.

The engine roared. They pulled away—fast, but controlled.

Inside the car, silence. Heavy. Not relief. Not safety. Understanding.

"They took it," one guard said.