A soft, rhythmic knock sounded at the door. Not the kick of a breach team, but the polite persistence of a debt collector.
Lu Sheng didn't move from the bed, but his hand disappeared under the silk pillow. He was pale, the exertion of the self-stitching leaving him brittle. I didn't look at him. I didn't need to. We both knew his gun was a liability now.
"Open it," he rasped.
I stood up, smoothed my dirt-streaked skirt, and opened the door.
A man stood in the hallway. He was middle-aged, wearing a grey suit that cost more than my father's car and carrying a tablet that looked military-grade. Behind him, two men in tactical gear stood perfectly still, their eyes fixed on the middle distance.
"Miss Lin Xiao," the man said. His voice was pleasant, like a banker's. "I am Director Song. I believe you've been expecting us."
"You're late," I said. I didn't step back to let him in. I occupied the threshold. "I sent the metadata packet twenty minutes ago. It shouldn't have taken the Ministry this long to trace the Hyatt's private relay."
Song's polite smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Protocols take time. May we come in?"
"No."
One of the tactical officers shifted his weight. Director Song raised a hand, silencing him. He looked past me at Lu Sheng, who was sitting shirtless on the bed, his torso a map of fresh trauma and old scars.
"We are here to recover the National Lottery funds and secure your safety, Miss Lin," Song said, his tone shifting to something more paternal. "And, of course, to take Mr. Lu into custody for the kidnapping and the blackout at Substation 04."
"He didn't kidnap me," I said. "And I caused the blackout."
The silence in the hallway turned cold.
"You're young," Song said. "Under duress, people say things to protect their captors. If you cooperate now, the state is prepared to offer you full immunity and a position within our cyber-defense bureau."
I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms. "You're offering me a job because you can't find the money. You tracked me here, but you've realized the accounts are sitting in a dead-drop that requires a heartbeat. If you arrest me, the $1.2 billion vanishes into a black hole at midnight."
I held up my phone. The screen showed a countdown timer: 00:44:12.
"I don't want immunity," I continued. "And I don't want a job. I want a 'Consultant's License.' Total freedom of movement, no surveillance, and a diplomatic freeze on any investigation into Lu Sheng's activities for the next thirty days."
"That's impossible," Song snapped. "He's a high-level cleaner. He's on three watchlists."
"Then you'd better start a fourth one for me," I said. "Because at 00:00, that money is going to be distributed to every offshore account on the Qin Group's blacklist. You'll have a global financial crisis on your hands, and I'll be the girl who started it. Do we have a deal, or do I go back to my laptop?"
From the bed, I heard a low, dry sound. Lu Sheng was laughing a jagged, pained sound that barely left his throat. He was looking at Director Song with the pity a wolf shows a tethered dog.
Director Song looked at the timer. He looked at the two armed men behind him. Then he looked at me a nineteen-year-old girl who had just turned the Ministry of State Security into her personal firebreak.
"Thirty days," Song said, his jaw tight. "But if one cent of that money moves without a Ministry signature, I will authorize a containment failure. The building will not be insured, Miss Lin. Do you understand?"
"I'll take those odds," I said.
I closed the door in his face.
I turned back to the room. Lu Sheng was watching me, his eyes dark and unreadable. The power had shifted; the air in the room felt different.
"You just put a target on your head that makes the Qin Group look like amateurs," he said.
"I know." I walked back to the desk. "But I also just bought you thirty days of life. You're welcome, Lu Sheng."
He didn't thank me. He just gripped the edge of the mattress, his knuckles white. He was no longer my captor, and I was no longer his asset. We were two ghosts in a five-star suite, waiting to see who would knock next.