The next morning, Shen met Jiang at the edge of the central ruin. The sun was low. The air was cold. Frost clung to the broken bricks.
"Ready?" she asked.
He nodded. His breath fogged in front of his face.
They walked east. The ruins gave way to open ground. Then more ruins. The floating market appeared in the distance. Wooden platforms stacked on old buildings. Ropes and bridges swaying in the wind. Smoke from cooking fires.
"The X is somewhere in there," Shen said. "Near the old fish market."
Jiang touched her palm. The key-shaped mark was faint, but she felt a tug in her chest. "I don't like this," she said. "I have a bad feeling."
They entered the market. It was busier than yesterday. More people. More noise. Vendors shouting. Children running between stalls. The smell of fish and old oil.
Shen kept his head down. Jiang watched the crowd.
The map was rough. But it showed a row of abandoned storage sheds behind the fish stalls. They found the row. Seven sheds. All locked. All rusted. Some had holes in the walls.
"Which one?" Jiang asked.
Shen studied the map again. The X was marked near the third shed. He walked to it. The door had a small mark carved into the wood. A triangle. His father's mark.
"This one."
He broke the lock with his hook. The lock fell to the ground with a dull thud. The door opened with a long creak. Inside was dark. Dust. Old crates. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling like old curtains.
Shen stepped in. Jiang followed. Their footsteps echoed on the wooden floor.
In the back, under a loose floorboard, he found a small metal box. No rust. Newer than everything else. It was about the size of his hand. Smooth. Cold.
He opened it.
Inside was a key. Old. Brass. And a folded letter. The paper was yellowed but still intact.
Shen picked up the key. Looked at it. Turned it over in his fingers. It had a number engraved on the side: 47. Then he put it in his pocket.
He picked up the letter. Unfolded it. The handwriting was his father's. Messy. Rushed.
"Shen, if you're reading this, I didn't make it back. This key opens a storage unit at the east dock. Unit 47. Inside is something I pulled from the water years ago. It's important. Don't open the box until you're ready."
Shen stared at the letter. His jaw tightened. His father had been here. Had hidden this and had never come back.
"What does it say?" Jiang asked.
He handed her the letter. She read it in silence. Her eyes moved slowly across the page.
"East dock. Unit 47," she said. "We can go there."
Shen didn't answer right away. He put the letter in his pocket. Then he stood up and looked around the shed one more time. Nothing else. Just dust and cobwebs.
"I'm thinking whether to invite you," he said.
Jiang looked at him. "We're partners, aren't we?"
Shen nodded.
"Then you don't need to invite me. I'm already in."
"It's not your fight."
"Your father's box. That scarred man. The Door Court. It's my fight too now."
Shen looked at her for a long moment. Then nodded. "Together. But we wait."
The door slammed open.
A scarred face stood there with ten men behind him. They filled the doorway. Machetes. Pipes. Knives.
"Well, well, well. There you are," he said. "You think you can embarrass me and walk away? Your father's debt. You're not getting away."
Shen put his hand on his hook. "I told you. My father is dead. You keep coming. Fine. Then you all stay."
Scarred Face snorted. "Hah. You think you scare me, kid? Last time I was careless."
His eyes fell on the small metal box in Shen's hand. The box was still open. The key was gone, but the box remained.
"That must be what your father owed us," Scarred Face said. "Now go get it!"
He pointed at Shen. The ten men rushed in.
Shen moved left. His hook caught the first man in the shoulder. Pulled. The man fell hard, his head hitting the floor. Jiang's dagger cut a second man across the arm. He dropped his knife and screamed.
But there were too many. Shen took a hit to the ribs. He grunted. Kept fighting.
Jiang stabbed a third man in the leg. He went down. Another man grabbed her from behind. She elbowed him in the face. He let go and stumbled back.
Shen was bleeding from a cut on his forehead. The blood ran into his eye. He wiped it with the back of his hand. His arm hurt. But he didn't stop.
Three men rushed him together. He ducked. Hook swept their legs. Two fell. The third kicked him in the chest. Shen stumbled. Hit the wall. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs.
Scarred Face came at him with a machete. Shen parried with his hook. Metal clanged. Sparks flew.
"How?" Scarred Face growled, swinging again. "Two days ago you were barely standing. Now you're this strong?"
Shen blocked another strike. The force pushed him back a step. "Some things you just don't understand."
They clashed again. Hook and machete. Back and forth. Shen took a cut on his arm. Blood dripped down his fingers. But he didn't stop. He stepped in close, grabbed Scarred Face's wrist, and twisted hard. The machete fell to the ground. Shen drove his hook into Scarred Face's throat.
The man's eyes went wide. He dropped to his knees. Gurgled. Fell face down. Dead.
Jiang's dagger cut another across the chest. He fell. Two more came at Shen. He sidestepped. Hook caught one in the back. The other swung a pipe. Shen took the hit on his arm. Bone cracked. A sharp pain shot through him. He didn't scream. He grabbed the man's wrist, twisted, and drove his hook into the man's side.
The last two men threw down their weapons. They fell to their knees. Their hands were shaking.
"Please," one said, his voice shaking. "Please, don't. We have families. He made us come. We didn't want to."
The other man was crying. Tears ran down his dirty face. "We'll leave. We'll never come back. Just let us go."
Shen looked at them. His face was hard. His arm was bleeding. His ribs ached. He didn't lower his hook.
"And let you bring more to kill me later?" he said.
He killed them both. Quick. Clean. No more words.
All ten men were dead. Scarred Face among them. Blood pooled on the wooden floor. The smell of iron filled the small shed.
Shen leaned against the wall. His arm throbbed. His ribs hurt. He was breathing hard. Jiang had a cut on her arm, but she was still standing. Her dagger dripped red.
"We need to go," she said.
Before they could move, two figures stepped into the doorway. Dark uniforms. Triangle badges on their chests.
Door Court.
The one in front looked at the bodies. Counted them silently. Then looked at Shen.
"You made a mess," he said.
"They started it," Jiang said.
The man raised his hand. His mark glowed faintly. A wave of pressure pushed out. "We don't care who started it. We care about the noise. Too many people saw. Too many will talk."
"What do you want?" Shen asked. His voice was calm, but his hand stayed on his hook.
"Nothing. Just a warning. That key you found? Don't make trouble with it. We'll be watching."
He turned and walked out. The other followed. Their footsteps faded into the market noise.
Shen and Jiang stood in silence for a moment. The bodies lay around them.
"Let's go," Shen said.
They left the market. The sun was higher now. The morning fog had burned off. They walked back the way they came. Past the broken walls. Past the rusted cars. Past the empty lots.
"Your arm needs a splint," Jiang said.
"I'll wrap it at home."
They reached the central ruin. Jiang stopped at the entrance to her bunker.
"We go to the east dock together. Not today. But soon."
"Three days," Shen said.
Jiang nodded. "Three days."
She turned and walked down the stairs. Shen watched her go. Then he continued west.
He reached his door. Checked the frame. A small triangle carved into the wood. New. He rubbed it off with his thumb. It left a dark smudge.
Inside, he sat on his bed. His arm was swollen. He tore a strip from his shirt and wrapped it tightly around the wound. The cloth turned red quickly.
Then he took out the key and the letter. Read the letter again.
"Don't open the box until you're ready."
He looked at the key. The number 47 was still clear. Then he thought about Jiang. She had already decided to come with him. She had fought beside him. She had bled.
He put the key and letter back in his pocket. His palm was warm. The triangle mark pulsed. Slow. Steady.
He lay down. Stared at the ceiling. The wood was cracked. A spider crawled across a beam.
Three days. Then the east dock. Then the box.
He closed his eyes.