Chapter Text
The sun shines bright this morning, even in the stark concrete of the border wall’s bounds. The thump of boots walking the perimeter is a steady rhythm under the metallic clanking of artillery. The forbidding border wall stretches as far as the eye can see, looming large against both sides of the halved city of Belobog, seemingly both bright and gloomy at the same time. There is a near-visible weight of tension between the patrolling forces on opposite sides of the wall, especially here, in one of the few border crossings along its length. One could smell the undercurrent of despair beneath the smell of concrete, mud, and gunpowder.
No matter the Overworld’s affluence, this section of the city is in a dilapidated state, many buildings abandoned in fear of being caught in the crossfire should the fragile “peace” break. Still, there are a number of residents that hold strong, living their lives even under threat at the slightest change in pressure. People still hold hope that the barrier will be broken one day, for one reason or another.
This is has become the norm for the past decade in this part of Belobog, torn asunder as they have been from their internal fracturing after the long-fought war that felt like the longest winter, spanning too many years. Now, patrols are a constant and inescapable sight, curfews are strictly imposed, and every person that comes to breathe even near the walls are heavily monitored.
The guards are right to be vigilant. There are many forces at play in this bustling city these days. Outside of the Silvermane Guards and Wildfire, foreign entities have long dipped their thumbs into this powder keg of a pie; the Hunters, the Alliance, and the IPC, among others, have their operatives crawling through nearly every back alley. They rarely make a fuss, content to keep their eyes and ears open for any opportunity to strike.
Rare is it that something unusual happens here. Today seems to be an exemption.
A clearly foreign man of stable bearing is strolling his way to the border check. His hair is long and dark, tied up into a modest ponytail, showing the strong lines of his neck. His eyes are bright and golden with a mole under his left eye barely visible behind the large square sunglasses he’s wearing against the blinding shine of the morning sun, complimenting the line of his jaw. His sharp dark navy suit accentuates his broad shoulders and the precise lines of his pants fall in line easily with his firm and confident gait. A quaint suitcase swings alongside him, his polished watch shining on his other, unoccupied hand.
The weight of many eyes fall on him as he makes his way through the inspection desk but he walks undeterred without a single misstep. He walks as if he is simply on a regular walk, seemingly used to being under heavy scrutiny. He even has an affable smile on his face that softens the weight of his presence.
“Good morning,” the man greets pleasantly. His voice is deep but his tone is friendly, his smile cordial. He receives a short reply from the officer but that does not affect his countenance at all.
He presents the contents of his suitcase confidently, taking off his glasses when indicated, his smile widening. As the officer looks through his belongings, a flash of color catches his eye and he shoots a glance at the reflective surface beside the officer. He’s always been familiar with the weight of gazes upon him but there has been a more intense pressure ever since he set foot on the premises of the border.
This gaze feels a little familiar but the most he gets to see is short, dark hair, mostly hidden under a knit cap, stylish aviator sunglasses, and broad shoulders under dark clothing, all behind a freshly printed newspaper.
A tail. How typical. From what little he’d seen, whoever that was is not a native. The Hunters truly have been slowly tightening their hold of this side of the city just as the Alliance has been quietly in the Overworld.
He looks back at the officer once he sees him tilt his head back up from his belongings, giving him the all clear and signing off on his papers. He gives a final smile and nod as thanks before he goes back on his way. He files away what he’s noticed of the tail to review later.
He’s in.
Now comes the fun part.
A quick little detour to fetch a brown bag and catch a cab and he finally reaches his destination that night, a quaint little chop shop, visibly in disrepair from the outside but the inside is audibly bustling. Most of the buildings in this part of the city are. A little dirty, a little aged, but lively within even with the rising turmoil they have been living with.
He asks around for a “Miss Stelle Ronn” and is directed to a car, clearly cared for but a little aged. He can see dirty pants of someone’s overalls tucked in well-worn boots under it, paying no heed to the sound of his footsteps.
He speaks in Belobogian as he comments on the car aloud, admiring the engine’s upgrades in an older model, until a greasy, irritated face slips out from under the car with a squeak of the creeper’s wheels. Good.
Miss Stelle has quite strong facial features, her mid-length gray hair mostly held back by a bandana. Her yellow eyes are sharp and keen as they look up at him. She looks quite fit, if a little lacking in healthy fat in her cheeks. Her arms are crossed, heedless of the grease on her hands smearing her the denim of her clothing.
“Your accent is quite good for someone from the Xianzhou.”
He smiles in response, tilting his head in greeting. “Good day, Miss Ronn.”
Stelle snorts, still not getting up from her creeper. “You look important. What’s a smart suit like you doing around these parts?”
“Heard you wanted some help. I can get you over that wall.” He looks back over the car, spotting a rag and taking it to, presumably, re-shine his watch.
Stelle snags it back in short order. “Saying things like that can get you into a lot of trouble around here—” She cuts herself off at his next actions.
Pouting a little from being denied the rag, the man quickly finds himself a seat at her desk, looking around at the various items on display, categorizing them in quick succession as he melts further into the chair, not caring all too much about how rigid it is, elbows on the table to keep eye contact with the young woman. He had walked a lot today, he thinks he deserves a nice little break on this chair.
The man smiles and Stelle fights the urge to fling the rag in her hand to mar his smug, handsome face. “Or they can get me out of it.”
Stelle scoots her creeper out further to sit up and look at the smug man straight in the eye, dragging a hand over the flyaway grays sticking to her face, smearing grease on her skin. “You’re making yourself pretty comfortable, huh.”
He pats the desk in front of him and picks up a little picture. “This is quite a comfy little nook.”
That’s it. Stelle gets up and puts a hand on her hip as she leans on her car. “Fucking— Fine,” she spits. He better not be messing with her carefully arranged things. No matter how Luka says it’s a mess and a half, it’s her way of organizing things. Not that he was any better anyway. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I’m here about your brother.” He flashes the photo he’d picked up from the desk. Two children at what seemed to be a garden, visibly twins, both with gray hair and bright, yellow eyes, smiling as they hold on to a baseball bat, facing the camera.
Stelle’s expression immediately freezes.
Hm. Not really one to lie easily, this one.
The man hums at the picture. He recalls what information his stingy handler had allowed him.
Caelus Ronn, an eccentric rocket scientist that fell into quite the bad crowd. Well, he didn’t quite fall into them as they did drag him in by force, with various threats upon his person and loved ones. The usual. Nevertheless, he is Stelle’s twin brother.
“I haven’t seen him in a decade, why should I care?” She does try to put up a fight with a flimsy façade of disinterest but the man spots her twitching hands easily as she tries to busy herself with the car once more.
“Well, after the war he came to roost with the Alliance. Living the dream, a nice house, a nice car, even a cute little puppy called ‘Puffball’.” As he talks, he opens his suitcase to— he sees a shine of something that should not be there. A transmitter, smaller than he had ever seen.
Shit. He remembers that quick second he had focused away from the inspector when he’d seen his tail through a metallic, reflective surface.
“So you lost him.” Stelle’s voice reminds him of where he is.
Still rummaging around his suitcase, the man soldiers on after a quick hum of acknowledgement, “Until last week when we spotted him in Penacony.” He pulls out an image to show Stelle. A modestly-dressed woman of average height with two attendants and a sheepish gray-haired man standing around a fancy limo. The gray-haired man looks like he’s about to board the vehicle.
Even after all this time, he’s very visibly her brother, scratching at the back of his neck, a little hunched over in front of a beautiful woman. Still, Stelle tries to deflect, voice dry as she says “So which one is supposed to be my brother?” She walks to her toolbox, only a few steps away from the side of her desk, to store her wrench.
“Haha! A sense of humor!” He puts away the photo into his breast pocket. “I have been told that his knowledge falling into someone else’s hands would be catastrophic. The nuclear kind, world-ending and all. And the woman he’s been seen with is quite the woman.”
Stelle huffs. “Okay, then what does that have to do with me? I don’t know where he is or whoever else was in that photo.”
“Not you, exactly. But you may know someone who does.” The man has picked up the transmitter again to fiddle with, unscrewing its cap. “You and your brother’s auntie ‘Phantylia,’ your father’s close friend.” He stands up and drops the uncapped transmitter into a half-empty coffee mug. If that doesn’t destroy it, it should at least muffle whatever it hears.
He walks closer to Stelle who is still by her toolbox.
This close, Stelle can finally get a proper sense of the man’s height. He’s tall and she thinks this as someone taller than the average woman even outside of this country. She is starting to think looking at him from her creeper was easier than craning her neck back to look him in the eye.
Hm, his hair’s kind of fluffy too.
“I have also been told that your brother never wanted to work with the Abundance, only forced to do so. I am here to help him. Why not help me do so?”
“Why would I do that?”
“If we had, say, fifteen minutes. We could have tea with some snacks of your choice. We would have a nice conversation and then be on our way. Alas.” He points at the narrow window.
Stelle looks out through the dirty glass, squinting to see past the accumulated dirt. Maybe they should have invested more on cleaning up this place—
“I very much suggest you come with me now. We’d be at a nice hotel in less than a half hour or…”
Stelle sees a tall man in dark clothes, perhaps the same height as the well-dressed visitor in her shop, and a knit hat—isn’t that a beanie?—very obviously looking right at her shop, right at her.
“If you would prefer to go along with them and their… most likely rather harsh methods, then who am I to deny— Ah, that’s what I’ve been looking for.” He crouches to extract it and—
What did he need a city map for?
He pulls out a pen seemingly out of thin air, looks down at the map, then at back at her, and goes, “Would you mind terribly if I could borrow your car?”
They waste little time getting a move on. The man lays horizontally on the backseat to avoid being seen as he continues sketching out lines on the map.
He brushes the hair falling in his eye to the side, a little unnerved by the dark color still even after all this time with his disguises. His natural hair color is quite eye-catching after all.
He focuses back on the map in his hands, drawing his planned routes as he had memorized before he had even begun this mission. No such thing as too much preparation, especially in this line of work. Most especially with the handler he’s been saddled with—he quashes the resentment in his chest with an ease born from practice, he has more important things to think about. He pays little mind to Stelle’s haphazard driving, he could admit she drives much more efficiently than he does, though he doubts she’s ever taken a proper test to get her license.
He feels the car slow to a stop at a stoplight and speaks only loud enough for her to hear clearly, “Miss Stelle, could you please pass me the brown paper bag from my suitcase?” He thanks her when she passes it over. Her eyes are a little wide from nerves, her knuckles paling from the tightness of her grip on the wheel.
The man radiates calm and Stelle isn’t sure if she should be infuriated or in awe. She can hear the squeak of the car window being lowered. How—? (He’s turning the crank with a well-polished shoe but, of course, she can’t see that.)
“Are they still following us? Don’t speak. Just hum once if yes.” Stelle can hear the brown paper bag crackling as he fished something out of it.
One other car slowly pulls up to them by the stoplight, white and shining, nearly the same model as her own car. The driver is very visibly looking right at her, eyes unnervingly wide open and intensely focused. She thinks they’re the color red but she can’t be sure, the street lights are all orange, dimmer than what she can spot on the other side of the city when she wasn’t driving strangers with a tail not from Wildfire at night.
“Mhm.” Stelle kind of wants to stop breathing, everything feels far too loud. But passing out right now sounds even worse, actually. She’s heard a bunch of stories about the cruelty of some of the factions crawling around in this city. So she doesn’t.
Stelle also doesn’t think this guy blinks at all, after a few moments at the stoplight, politely waiting for the green even without any other cars coming by at this time of night. She wonders why he’s wearing a knit hat. It looks a little unprofessional.
She hears a faint click and looks quickly at her rear-view mirror—it’s the silencer of the gun attaching securely to the barrel.
“Is only one of his hands on the steering wheel?” He may as well be talking about the weather with that tone. She reluctantly lets that voice calm her a little.
Stelle moves her mouth to a strained smile at the unnerving man in the other car. Her eyes flicker down to look at his hands. Only one is visible. “Mhm.”
“Mm.” The traffic light is about to turn green. “When you hear a gunshot—” His voice is firm. “—drive.”
BANG!
She wastes no time stepping on the pedal. Tires screech from the abuse and they’re off like a shot. The man gets up to sit properly on the backseat. He takes a quick look at the car they’re leaving behind.
“Did you get him?” Stelle doesn’t let her foot off the pedal at all, barely glancing at the rear-view mirror to look the man in the eye.
The man doesn’t celebrate early. He saw no body slumped over the wheel. “Let’s hope they don’t drive as quickly as they move.”
Stelle looks at her side mirror to check. “Well, he does.” The car is right back on their tail, slowly gaining on them. She has the fleeting thought to pull over and open up the hood of that car herself but she shakes herself back into the moment.
The car is already beside them on their right.
“Make a right.” The man’s voice is still infuriatingly calm and steady while Stelle feels like her heart is about to pump out of her chest. Fuck. What the fuck. Is this really happening.
Stelle banks left, praying that her car will listen, silently apologizing for the hell she’s putting her through. It responds eagerly, as she had intended. She feels a little pride rising in her chest, pushing aside some of her panic.
The man in the other car swerves nearly at the same time she does, nearly hitting her headlights.
“An immediate left.”
She holds firm on the wheel when the cars bump sides. She only takes a quick look to her right at the other driver before she looks back on the road.
Fuck. There’s a fork in the road and they’re heading right into the island and the collapsed house on it. They’re getting to the demolished part of the city.
She can’t just make a turn, the other could bump them into a spin.
Well, she’ll just have to do it first, then. Stelle thinks quick and pulls off one of her favorite (possibly not legal, she doesn’t care to know anyway) moves. She pulls up her parking break and puts them into a drifting spin. “Hah!” She couldn’t stop her smug bark.
She timed it perfectly and pulls away to the left, right as the fork comes up, forcing the other to swerve to the other road.
“Nicely done,” the man in her backseat compliments and Stelle feels her chest puff out a little.
But her triumph doesn’t last for long. She can hear the rumble of the other’s engine. She makes a turn and squints as they drive into a road filled with parked cars, all the spots occupied but for one.
Perfect. “Hold on.”
She pulls the parking break again and drifts into a perfect parallel park in the empty spot. She turns off the lights and kills the engine in a practiced motion. Both of them are on their sides to hide from sight, fully silent to hear the other car drive past.
The man hums in thought and seems to come to a decision. They can’t get away with just this and they’re running out of time.
He reaches forward to pat the leather of the driver’s seat. “Reverse down the sidewalk, drive around the block—” He gets out of the car, leaving his suitcase on the backseat. “—and please meet me back here.” He smiles sunnily, somehow bright even in the gloom of the near-pitch dark of this area, improperly lit as it is.
Stelle sniffs with a frown but nods all the same.
He moves to take cover beside another car and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long. He hears the other car reversing back to them and sees Stelle’s car continue on to the sidewalk.
Good.
The other man spots the shadow of Stelle’s car and follows forward quietly with his car.
The sharply-dressed man wastes no time to walk onto the road for a better view, take a stance, and aim.
He breathes out and shoots twice. Pssht! Pssht!
Tires screech. A loud metallic crash resounds in the quiet night.
Silence descends.
He tilts his head, half his face cast in a severe shadow, the other in bright light, both eyes seemingly aglow as he watches the crashed car, waiting for movement. His dyed black hair shines in the light. He has a feeling this chase is not yet fully over but—
His thoughts are interrupted when he is nearly clipped by Stelle, only saved by his quick reflexes swerving him to the side. He raises an eyebrow at the unrepentant driver and only gets an eye-roll in response. He gets back in at the backseat anyway.
What he doesn’t see is the dark-haired man once again on laying his back in the car, his chair nearly parallel with the car floor. He is silent, eyes unblinking at the ceiling. He’s waiting.
“Agent Jing Yuan. I’m sure you’re familiar.” A sultry voice echoes throughout the silent meeting room.
The man does not reply nor does he make any other sound. He only quietly clenches his fist in his lap.
“A runaway from the prolific Jing family of the Xianzhou Alliance’s Luofu City. He rose quickly through the ranks of the military and made a name for himself at the ripe age of 23. He was eventually recruited by the Charioteers into Covert Ops, taken under the wing of one of their most successful agents.”
He bites the inside of his mouth to calm down the red threatening to cloud his sight. Kafka already knows much of his history so she doesn’t dwell on it overlong, nor does she mention any other names.
“A man well-decorated both as a military man and an agent, well-known and well-regarded for his unorthodox strategies and methods that prioritize minimal casualties. Alas.” Kafka’s voice takes a colder tone.
He looks unblinkingly at the pictures flashing in the screen. A vague feeling rises in his chest at every successive image, showing the growth of a man he hadn’t seen since he was “let go” by the Charioteers.
“Even after his loyal service, he was demoted into being a lone field agent seven years ago after a catastrophic incident but I’m sure you know more about that than me.” Kafka pats his shoulder. The High-Cloud Quintet, she doesn’t say.
He huffs.
“It’s astounding how he’s still going even after the Charioteers handed him over to the Preceptors.” Kafka clicks her tongue. “And yet, he continues to serve as the Alliance’s most successful and efficient agent. But, well, he hasn’t come across you yet, has he, Bladie?”
“Orders up top say to kill him, if necessary.”
Blade hears the rumble of an engine and swiftly kicks open the door of the wrecked car to get out. He wastes no time and aims his silenced gun. Pshht! Pshht! He hits the back tires in quick succession.
“You cannot let that young lady escape.”
He starts sprinting as he hears the whining protest of rims against asphalt, brushing off the weight of that incredulous golden gaze to focus on catching up with the car.
He pulls up all the shortcuts of this area he had memorized to the forefront of his mind and puts them to work.
What the fuck.
What the fuck?!
Stelle is bewildered at the sight on her side mirror. How?! She’s not hallucinating right?! “You should look out the window.”
“You cannot be serious…” His voice drifts off when he is immediately proven wrong with a turn of his head.
The man is somehow keeping up with the car and gaining on them. Granted, the car’s rear tires had been blown out but what in Lan’s name—
The man gets close enough to grab at the trunk handle.
He finally recognizes that face.
Jing Yuan grits his teeth behind a closed mouth. It seems the Preceptors still wish to test his limits. No wonder that man had been tight-lipped about the details. He’d thought this man had been on a mission in another part of the world.
Still, his conflicted feelings have to take a backseat when he finally figures out what the man is trying to do.
The man is pulling at the handles to—
“He’s trying to stop the car,” Jing Yuan says, voice flat from shock. What has he been eating while they had been apart all these years?
The man is trying to pull them into a stop with only his body, shoes flat on the road to find a grip. His face is screwed into concentration, teeth clenching with the force he’s exerting.
Stelle spots her speed dropping. “What the fuck is he doing? Why don’t you take a shot at him?! You have a gun!” What the fuck is she even supposed to do in this situation?!
Red and gold eyes clash through the window.
Jing Yuan breathes, lip curling up minutely. “Somehow, it just doesn’t feel like the right thing to do.”
CREAK!
Suddenly, they are unimpeded.
Unseen by Stelle, the man’s golden eyes are blown open wide at the sight he sees.
The man has pulled off the lid of the trunk. Jing Yuan sees him still for a moment to look at what is in his hands before he rears back to throw the trunk lid right at them, going right back to running after them as soon as he lets it go.
Jing Yuan is not fully sure what he should feel about that so he focuses right back onto his objectives, or rather, his one objective for this mission. Get Stelle A. Ronn out of the Underworld.
“Did he just—?!” Stelle shouts. “MY FUCKING CAR—!”
“Keep driving, Miss Stelle.” This is the most rattled the man has sounded this entire night.
BANG! That’s the sound of the trunk hitting the back of the car.
“First, take the left then an immediate right.”
Stelle grunts but follows the instructions anyway.
The streets are narrowing and they can hear sirens blaring, growing closer. What a fuss.
“This road isn’t going anywhere!”
“It’s taking us right where we want to be.”
“What kind of shitty-ass map have you been looking at! It’s getting narrower!” Stelle finally blows up.
The man continues to be annoyingly firm and assured of himself. “It’s all according to plan, Miss Stelle. Now, please put your foot down and drive a little faster.”
Why is she even listening to this guy anyway? Was this what Natasha meant by “sunk-cost fallacy”?
Stelle groans in frustration, leaning forward, gripping the steering wheel tighter. Oh, he wanted faster, huh? Sure, she can do that. Stelle changes gears and puts the pedal to the metal. She swallows the scream in her throat when the car crashes in between two buildings, suspended a couple meters from the alley’s stairs below.
Stelle rubs at her face then whips around to yell at the man still calm in the backseat, “Great. Now what? Are we stealing another car to crash into that fucking wall? Fly over the minefield, perhaps?!”
The man hums and leans toward her. Very close. Too close. Whoa, whoa, hold on— She plasters her back to the seat. He’s gorgeous, of course, but she is not for this—
No, wait, he’s just cranking her window down. Squeak! Squeak! It just so happened to have ended up right by window of the building to their left.
Who plans stuff like this?! How did he know?!
He smells irritatingly nice. And that chest is unreal. Stelle feels a little self-conscious of her own all of a sudden.
Then he leans back into his original seat and Stelle feels like she can breathe again. Aeons.
“Now, take another left through the window.” The man smiles cheekily, gesturing at the window with a flourish.
Stelle only barely resists the urge to bash her head through her windshield.
“After you, Miss Ronn.”
Stelle would be very surprised if she doesn’t end up hitting this man with a baseball bat after all this is over.
Blade gets to the mouth of the alleyway he’d seen the car go through only moments later.
Unfortunately, a couple patrol cars arrive just as he gets closer. How annoying.
He speaks in rough Belobogian, his voice low but commanding, “Get out of my way.”
He hears the crackle of a radio. “All units, come in! There is an armed giant in the south-eastern wall.”
A giant? Really? People are so short in this region.
He has no time to waste for this. He knows Jing Yuan’s chances of escape are rising by the second but he’s not so willing to give up. He never had been.
He clenches his fist in impatience.
Ah, fuck it.
His fist whips out to catch the first officer in the face, flipping another who thought they could get him unawares from behind. He steals another officer’s baton to hit one in the face, elbowing the one he’d disarmed in the solar plexus. Blade grabs the gun of the last one, pointing the barrel right at his face. Fortunately, that’s enough of a threat that the man takes no action and simply raises his hands in surrender.
Blade looks around to make sure they’re all down, still pointing the gun at the remaining officer. He grabs one of the downed officers’ radio as a just in case and sprints onwards to the building.
He spots Jing Yuan’s dyed hair slip through the window just as he turns the corner. It was longer than he had last seen it.
Jing Yuan runs his hands down his front to press the creases out of his jacket. “Please follow me.”
Stelle thinks he sounds like one of those fancy butlers she’d seen in the films some of the others had managed to sneak in on this side of the wall.
He leads them through various rooms, heading straight to the main door. Jing Yuan is a little relieved that his intel included common layouts in these buildings.
He urges Stelle to the side to make quick work of the lock and takes care to also unhook the chain. It wouldn’t do to bother other people with more noise as it is.
They rush out of the room right into a stairwell. Jing Yuan takes a quick glance down and around the stairwell before ushering Stelle up the stairs.
Blade jumps and heaves himself up on the car with little fanfare, entering the building through the same window Jing Yuan went through. He spots evidence of their movements as he rushes through the rooms.
It doesn’t take long for him to reach the stairwell and he wastes no time in running up the steps.
Jing Yuan is glad that the young lady has been very cooperative so far. She’s clearly rattled still, even with her competent driving. Perhaps she was only that much confident behind the wheel. Oh well, he’s only been tasked with her extraction, he doubts that he’ll see her again. Hm. Unless…
He relegates his thoughts to the backseat when they reach the ladder for the roof of the building. Thoughts for later.
He heads up first to lift the heavy door open and going through. He keeps the door aloft as Stelle climbs up, looking around for anything to secure it and spots a pole on the ground.
“Come on up, Miss.” Jing Yuan holds out a guiding hand that she gratefully takes. She’s showing fatigue but she should be able to make it.
Once Stelle is out, hands on her knees as she takes deep breaths, he loosens his grip and lets the door close on its own as he quickly grabs the pole to shove inside the loop meant for the lock.
It seems Stelle has recovered a little within a few seconds because she asks, “What are we doing here?”
Jing Yuan casts his gaze on to the other side past the wall, bringing out a penlight which he flashes in what is clearly a code. “We’re looking for Agent Yanqing.”
Stelle squints at where he might be aiming that little light and sees a covered truck right on the road on the other side. She’s a little bewildered to see it unguarded while this side may as well be in daylight with all the commotion.
BANG!
The loud sound catches both their attention. So does the sound of multiple rounds hitting the door, denting the metal in little hills.
Jing Yuan ushers them a little further from the door, closer to the side of the rooftop facing the border wall.
Blade growls a little in frustration. He barks Belobogian into the radio he’d picked up earlier. “This is the man that knocked out your officers. Get your men to the wall. Do not shoot the girl.”
This is going nowhere. He needs to find another way up. He looks around and spots a nosy old lady frantically moving to close her door when she spots him looking her way.
He moves quickly to push his shoe in. He shifts slightly to make himself a little smaller and talks in a softer tone even in his urgency, in clear Belobogian, “Madam, please excuse me.” He carefully pushes himself inside, taking care not to hit her with the door. The woman does not protest but continues to eye him warily. “I just need use of your window.”
He doesn’t wait for her verbal confirmation. The clock is ticking.
A metallic clang rings out as a grappling hook slots over the cluster of chimneys on the rooftop.
“There they are.” Jing Yuan tests the line before he latches on his prepared equipment for the zipline.
He looks behind them to see their persistent pursuer’s hand on the edge of the roof. Jing Yuan clicks his tongue.
Stelle looks at what he sees too and says, “Shit.” Was this guy some sort of supersoldier?!
He opens his arms to Stelle and says, completely seriously, “Hug me.”
Alright, then. This is Stelle’s life now, apparently, she thinks as she latches on. His hold is firm and solid around her waist as he braces her against him before he jumps and lets the zipline take them away.
They’re only a few seconds ahead when they feel another weight on the line.
But seconds is all that they need to get over the wall first.
Jing Yuan’s foot has not been on the truck’s floor for a second when he commands, “Yanqing! Reverse!”
Yanqing immediately obeys and the move slacks the line, halting their hunter in his tracks.
Jing Yuan pats Yutie in quiet thanks for his quick work with the zipline earlier.
Jing Yuan looks back and his eyes immediately zero-in on narrowed red eyes as the other dangles in the middle of the slack zipline, right over the minefield inside the border walls, his turtleneck not hiding the strain in his muscles as he hangs from it with his dark jacket.
“Step back, please,” Jing Yuan says as he urges Stelle back to access the launcher to unlatch the line, eyes watching the other man until he drops and the walls hide him from his sight.
He turns his back to look forward when the cloth cover for the truck hides them from view and Yanqing drives them to the safe house.
He’ll be fine. Jing Yuan had chosen that specific area for the least amount of planted mines as another measure of caution.
Mission accomplished. Much more messily than he had intended but well, that’s on his handler.
“…Did you bleach your hair?” Stelle asks incredulously from the kitchen doorway. She looks a little disbelievingly at him.
The smartly-dressed man who had smuggled her out of the Underworld was wearing an apron with little smiling cat heads, his suit jacket off, one button on his shirt unbuttoned, and his sleeves rolled up. It looks different from what he’d worn before. He probably showered already after their first conversation when they had arrived. She doesn’t think hair bleaches that fast, though.
Jing Yuan rubs the ends of his hair between his fingers, now back to its pristine white, turning to regard her from his place by the oven. “Oh no, not at all. That was a temporary dye. This is my natural color.” He gestures to the biscuits on the table. “Please feel free to take one for yourself.” He may or may not have baked more than his usual fare because of the intruding presence in his temporary lodging.
Stelle steps forward and haltingly takes one. It’s still fresh and warm. Did he…? She takes a little sniff, as if the smell wasn’t the main reason she had wandered her way to the kitcehn.
Well, he wouldn’t kill me now after going through all that trouble, right? She takes a small tentative bite and it’s the best bite she’s ever taken.
“What the fuck?” Her voice is muffled as she takes a larger bite. “Are you some long-lost star baker? Why are you doing—” Stelle gestures widely around the room. “—instead of this?!” She stuffs her mouth with the rest of the biscuit to leave her hands free to gesture strongly at the full plate.
Jing Yuan’s eyes sparkle with mirth as he laughs into his hand. “I’m afraid I must disappoint you, I merely dabble.” This was one of the least destructive hobbies he could pick up to keep sane with that man as his handler. His poor chessboards could not calm him fast enough and he feared breaking them in a more tumultuous mood. Busying his hands with the motions and busying his thoughts with measurements and procedures were much more fruitful and effective in the long run. The baked goods also work well as bribes and offerings for forgiveness. Fu Xuan has definitely been given much of them during his service.
As much fun as it is to see the young woman clearly enjoy the fruits of his labor, time is ticking and some people can only be so patient.
“Sir,” Yanqing calls for him from the doorway, visibly fidgeting a little. They still need to work on that, it seems. “He’s waiting for you.” There’s distaste in his voice at the mention. Mentoring him has clearly had some influence on his opinions. Not that they were wrong, especially for that man.
“My apologies but I have to entertain our… guests.” He knows that Stelle has seen the people darkening the carpets of the living room. And he knows she’s not stupid.
Stelle nods absent-mindedly, her full focus on demolishing the plate right in front of her.
Jing Yuan huffs another laugh. Quite the healthy appetite, this one.
His mood darkens as he turns to walk out, passing Yanqing who peeks further into the kitchen and slips inside, not even bothering to take off his cute apron, his face flashing into quiet disdain before he puts on his least favorite smile to face his… handler.
Jing Yuan can hear the speech of Jarilo’s new president from earlier that day through the walls, speaking of promises to dismantle the wall that has plagued the city for far too long among other plans. His lips threaten to quirk up. She’s a strong woman, driven and resolute. He truly hopes her term is fruitful.
His briefly-lightened mood sours again when he finally comes into the occupied living room, yet he allows no hint of his disdain on his face. He leans by the doorway.
Two more agents aside from those who assisted in the last leg of the extraction are in the room whom Jing Yuan greets with a quick nod, receiving acknowledgement in return.
A thin man sits by the television, his straight hair and thin face hidden by his hat, his coat is just shy of properly broadening his shoulders. The man always did infuriate his tailors.
“I trust Miss Ronn was helpful,” says Taoran.
“The intel was correct in that Phantilya would be our best shot at finding her brother.”
Taoran’s face twitches. “Is that all you got? After all this commotion?”
“She lives in Penacony after her incident with the Alchemy Commission from a while back, works for the Legion’s shipping company. And now, you have her.” Jing Yuan tilts his head in the direction of the kitchen. “My work here is done.”
“None of that is new information.” Taoran turns off the television in a quick motion, cutting off President Rand’s passionate speech, and leans back onto the chair. He still fails to affect proper elegance after all these years. He had always been jealous of the Dan brothers’ natural elegance. But that was neither here nor there. “You’re not done until I say so.”
Jing Yuan closes his eyes in a bid to calm himself before he walks closer toward Taoran’s seat. “You told me this would be a simple extraction.”
“It should have been.” His face shifts into something more severe. “I did not ask you to light up half of the Underworld.”
“They were ready for me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. They follow everybody.” Taoran snorts.
“Their agent ripped off the back of my car. You should have seen him run.”
“I did not take you for a coward, Mr. Jing. Where has your spine gone?” Taoran smiles, a sick little thing more fit for the sewers than in polite society.
Jing Yuan holds in a shudder. “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”
“Remind me, Mr. Jing, how much longer you have to serve for the Preceptors.” Taoran’s eyes crinkle in a mockery of joy.
“…” Jing Yuan starts thinking of chess openings before his thoughts turn to physical violence. His smile feels stiff on his face.
Taoran gets up from his seat and gets in his face, well as much as he could bear to be close to anyone, repulsive as he is. “You owe me five more years.” His voice lowers in an attempt at a threat. “You’re not as clever as you think. Don’t mistake your colleagues’ friendliness for loyalty. Whatever move you make only I allow.”
Jing Yuan simply keeps the smile on his face genial. With much effort.
The shorter man turns his back to leave. “You report for duty at 9 A.M. sharp, Jing Yuan. Good night.”