The file on To Kwok-wai was a violation. It wasn't just a dossier on a target; it was a dissection of a life. Kai sat in his silent apartment, the rain from the approaching typhoon beginning to lash against the windows, and learned everything about the man he was supposed to break. To was fifty-eight. A former boat captain who had built a small, independent shipping logistics company from the docks of Aberdeen. He was respected, known for his stubborn honesty and his devotion to his family. There were photos of him with his wife, Mei-ling, at a temple festival, their faces creased with easy smiles. There were school portraits of his daughter, Siu-wah, a bright-eyed girl of sixteen with a ribbon in her hair. There were schedules: when To left his modest apartment, when his wife went to the market, when his daughter took the bus home from school.
This was the "leverage" Wong deemed most effective. Not a broken knee or a severed finger. The threat of a void where a family used to be. It was cleaner, more devastating, and infinitely more cruel.
Kai's orders were to secure To's cooperation by any means necessary. In the language of the Wo Shing, that meant making him an offer he couldn't refuse, with his family's safety as the currency. The ghost of Jin Kai was being ordered to become a specter of death haunting an innocent household.
He drove to Aberdeen as the storm began to proper, the wipers of his stolen car fighting a losing battle against the sheeting rain. The typhoon winds whipped the harbor into a frenzy, tossing the fishing boats and junks about like bath toys. He found To's office, a small, weather-beaten building on a pier that groaned with each wave. A single light was on inside.
He didn't go in with threats. He didn't go in as a Red Pole. He went in as a man seeking shelter from the storm, his expensive jacket soaked through, his hair plastered to his forehead.
To was at his desk, a ledger of his own open before him, a cup of tea steaming at his elbow. He was a compact man with the kind of weathered, capable hands that had spent a lifetime tying knots and mending nets. He looked up, his eyes wary but not yet afraid.
"We're closed," he said, his voice a low rumble that competed with the storm outside.
"I just need a moment out of the rain," Kai said, letting a shiver creep into his voice. He looked around the small office. It was neat, organized, with framed photos of ships and family on the walls. It was a place built on order and hard work, a world away from the scented chaos of Wong's tea houses and the bloody sawdust of the mahjong parlours.
To studied him for a long moment, then gestured to a chair. "Sit. I'll get you a towel."
It was a simple act of decency, and it felt like an accusation. Kai sat, the file in his mind's eye superimposing itself over the kind-faced man who handed him a rough, clean towel.
"Bad night to be out," To said, returning to his desk.
"The worst," Kai agreed, drying his face. He looked at the photos. "Your family?"
To's posture softened slightly. "My wife, Mei-ling. My daughter, Siu-wah."
"They're beautiful. You're a lucky man." The words were ash in Kai's mouth. He was cataloging their value to his mission, their worth as leverage.
"I am," To said, a genuine warmth in his voice. Then his eyes narrowed slightly, the wariness returning. "You're not from around here."
"No," Kai said. He met To's gaze. "I'm here with a message. From the Wo Shing Society."
The name landed in the small room like a physical blow. The warmth vanished from To's face, replaced by a stony resignation. He closed his ledger. "I told the other one. I don't work with triads. My business is clean. I answer to my customers and to the sea. No one else."
"The other one?" Kai asked, though he knew. The 18K had already been here.
"A man with a scar. Nasty temper. He made threats." To's jaw was set. "My answer is the same. Tell your boss, no."
Kai leaned forward, the chair creaking. He had to play his part. "My boss is not a man with a nasty temper. He is a man with a long memory and a very, very long reach. The man with the scar threatened you. My boss… his concerns are more… holistic." He let his eyes drift meaningfully to the photograph of Mei-ling and Siu-wah.
The color drained from To's face. He understood. The 18K had threatened his business, his body. The Wo Shing was threatening his soul.
"Get out," To whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and fury.
"It doesn't have to be like this," Kai said, the scripted lines feeling like a betrayal of the man's decency. "Cooperate. A small percentage of your shipments. A minor adjustment to your routes. In return, you get our protection. Your family stays safe. Your business thrives."
"Thrives?" To barked a harsh, bitter laugh. "By becoming a laundromat for your filth? By letting you use my boats to poison this city? No." He stood up, pointing a shaking finger at the door. "Get out of my office."
Kai stood slowly. He had done what was asked. He had delivered the threat. He had presented the offer. To had refused. The next step, in the Wo Shing's playbook, was to make the threat real. A firebomb through the window. A kidnapping. A body in the harbor.
He walked to the door, the storm raging outside mirroring the one in his heart. He paused with his hand on the knob, the wind howling like a banshee.
"The typhoon will be gone by morning," Kai said, not looking back. "But we won't."
He stepped out into the lashing rain, the door slamming shut behind him. He stood on the shuddering pier, soaked to the skin in seconds, the file in his mind now a death warrant. He had played his part. He had been the ghost. But as he looked back at the single, defiant light in To's office, he knew he couldn't follow through. He couldn't become the man who extinguished that light.
He had saved Lok through Wong's power. He had saved Chan through a desperate lie. He had saved Edwin Pang through a clever ruse. But To Kwok-wai and his family… there was no clever way out. The only way to save them was to fail. And failing Wong came with a price he might not be able to pay.
He drove back through the storm, the ghost wrestling with the man, both of them drowning in the same relentless downpour. He had to find a way. A third path. A miracle. Because the alternative was to become the monster Lok already saw, and that was a death he wasn't sure he could survive.