Singapore’s eastern port was already alive by the time the sun began to rise.

  Forklifts growled across the massive yards, mechanical cranes groaned into motion, and men in faded uniforms moved like clockwork between rows of steel containers. Radios crackled with half-heard voices as the morning shift rolled in, many still chasing sleep with the last sips of bitter coffee.

  It was a regular day — the kind that moved on inertia and habit.

  But inside the port director’s office, things weren’t as smooth.

  Mr. Ko, a man in his late fifties with silvered temples and an old leather briefcase, arrived nearly an hour earlier than usual. His coat still hung from one arm as he rushed through the hallway, nodding absentmindedly to the staff who offered polite greetings.

  His office door shut behind him with a hard click.

  He exhaled.

  Then started searching.

  Drawers opened and slammed shut. Files spilled. Cabinets groaned as he sifted through the week’s paperwork.

  He had misplaced a critical folder, one he’d been working on.

  After nearly fifteen minutes of searching, he leaned against his desk, rubbing his eyes.

  Then it hit him.

  Anna.

  His secretary was meticulous — annoyingly so. While Ko preferred paper, Anna insisted on digital backups. Even if he hadn’t saved it, she probably had.

  He walked briskly to the small adjoining office, the light still off, the desk untouched since the night before. She hadn’t arrived yet.

  He sat at her chair, logged into her machine — her password was the same as always.

  Folder after folder, organized by date and category.

  It didn’t take long.

  There it was — under “Pending Approvals”: the missing file.

  He opened it, scanned the contents to be sure, then hit print.

  The slow chug of the printer started behind him. As the machine came to life, Ko allowed himself to relax for the first time that morning.

  And then… something caught his eye.

  A red folder.

  It sat to the side of the desk, labeled in Anna’s careful handwriting: “Delays — In Progress / Flagged”

  Ko hesitated. Then pulled it closer.

  One by one, he flipped through the pages. Mechanical issues. Customs violations. Incorrect paperwork. A broken seal. Every delay had a reason — clear, documented, signed.

  Except one.

  A container flagged only with:

  Suspicion of proximity.

  Ko frowned.

  He looked at the shipment’s name — the manifest number — then the company name: Grayson International Holdings.

  His fingers moved quickly across the keyboard.

  In the terminal system, Grayson International showed a clean record. Multiple shipments over the years. Never a hold. Never a warning.

  Ko’s frown deepened.

  He stood, grabbed both the freshly printed document and the red folder, and left the office.

  Down in the logistics wing, the port’s container processing team was already present — neon vests, tablets in hand, scanning incoming shipments.

  Ko approached the lead, a younger man named Yeo with wire-rim glasses and a military posture.

  “Yeo,” Ko said. “The Grayson shipment what’s its current status?”

  Yeo blinked, surprised. “Still in hold, sir. We didn’t start inspection yet.”

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  “Why?”

  Yeo hesitated. “The container came in alongside another flagged load — that one had trace narcotics. We put both on hold just to be safe. But… Grayson’s was never confirmed as connected. We’ve just been backed up on inspection scheduling.”

  Ko raised an eyebrow. “How long until you get to it?”

  “Could take two to three more days. We have backlog on priority shipments from last week.”

  “Forget that,” Ko said, handing him the page from the red folder. “Prioritize Grayson’s now. Reassign another team to the backlog.”

  Yeo glanced at the paper, then back up. “Sir? You sure?”

  Ko’s voice was firm. “Clean record. No grounds for this delay. I’ll take responsibility. Get it done today.”

  Yeo nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Ko turned, walking back toward the upper office — his mind already working through the misplaced document he had just found.

  On the other side, the clock ticked like it was counting down to something only Kai could feel.

  He sat near the back of the classroom, sunlight bleeding in across his desk, the sound of chalk and shifting papers drifting through the room like a fog he didn’t care to clear.

  His pen moved — absentminded loops in the margins of his notebook — but his mind was far from the lesson.

  She was here.

  Ms. Halden. The substitute. The woman who had blinked once and made a bird paint its message onto a stranger’s shirt like the universe had bowed to her command.

  Kai hadn’t seen her since the day at the café.

  Since she handed him the matchbox — the one that unlocked his secret library… and the truth written in glowing script by a man who no longer walked the world but still seemed to move within it.

  That was a week ago.

  But now, she was standing at the front of the room, writing formulas across the whiteboard, her tone even, her presence quiet — and every so often, her eyes flicked to him.

  Almost like she was checking.

  Inside, he’d been wrestling with it all weekend.

  Could she be trusted?

  The rational part of him had laid out the risks — every scenario, every angle. If she were with the Order, if she were bait, if she were simply here to monitor him and report back. It wouldn’t be hard to orchestrate. She knew too much. She moved too calmly.

  But then… she hadn’t hurt him.

  She hadn’t followed him. Pressed him. Asked for anything in return.

  She’d passed along his father’s words. Told him about the Order. Warned him, even.

  And the matchbox…

  If she wanted to harm me, he thought, she would’ve done it already.

  So today, he made a decision.

  He’d trust her — just enough. Enough to take the next step. Enough to ask for help.

  But not enough to lower his guard.

  Not yet.

  The bell rang, slicing through the room with its usual sharpness.

  Books closed. Backpacks zipped. Sneakers squeaked on tile.

  A few students called out goodbyes to Ms. Halden as they filtered out — her replies polite but distracted, her gaze sweeping back toward the boy still seated near the window.

  Kai didn’t move.

  Evan lingered by the door, throwing him a sideways glance like, You good?

  Kai didn’t respond with words. He simply raised his phone and tapped the screen.

  “Go. I’ll meet you at the villa.”

  Evan nodded once and disappeared into the hallway.

  And just like that, the classroom emptied — until there were only two left.

  Kai.

  And the woman who might hold more answers.

  The soft zip of a laptop sleeve broke the silence as Ms. Halden packed her things, calm and methodical. Her hands moved like someone used to precision. Nothing wasted. Nothing rushed.

  Kai rose from his seat and stepped toward her, his movements quiet, his eyes steady.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She looked up — and for a moment, her expression shifted. Not startled. Not surprised. But as if she had been expecting this exact moment.

  “Kai,” she answered, voice smooth, low. “You stayed.”

  “I want to talk,” he said, glancing toward the door. “About what you told me before. About my father. The Order. Everything.”

  She paused, then shook her head gently. “Not here.”

  Kai blinked. “Why not?”

  “Because,” she said, zipping the final pouch of her bag, “we can’t risk anyone overhearing.

  She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked past him like a current pulling forward.

  “Wait outside,” she said, almost like an afterthought. “I’ll meet you there.”

  The hallway had mostly emptied by the time Kai reached the front steps. A few lingering students passed by, caught in conversation or buried in their phones.

  Kai stood still — arms crossed, thoughts louder than the buzz of chatter around him.

  Minutes passed.

  Then, with a quiet purr of tires, a silver sedan pulled to the curb.

  The driver’s window lowered.

  She was behind the wheel. Same calm eyes. Same unreadable expression.

  “Get in,” she said.

  Kai opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. No words. Just the soft thunk of the door shutting behind him.

  She pulled into the street.

  The silence lasted longer than most people could sit with.

  Then she asked, “What did you want to talk about?”

  Kai stared out the windshield — watching buildings blur, trees melt into concrete.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said finally. “About what you told me. The Order. My father. The fact that I might already be in danger and not even know it.”

  She said nothing. Just listened.

  Kai continued. “I want to be ready. Before something bad happens.”

  A beat passed.

  Then she said,

  “If you’re serious, then you need more than preparation. You’ll need safe places. People you trust. Contingencies. You’ll need to be five steps ahead at all times.”

  “I’ve been working on that,” Kai said, turning toward her. “For a while now.”

  She glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I already have a team. People who trust me. A place — secure, private. We’ve been operating for months.”

  That stopped her.

  “You’ve… already built an organization?”

  Kai nodded once.

  “We’ve solved things. Helped people. Quietly. No attention.”

  “And they follow you?”

  “They believe in something I made up,” he admitted, almost smiling. “A fictional group I call The Watchers. I use them to explain things I can’t yet tell them.”

  Ms. Halden blinked — then gave a low, soft laugh. “You’re exactly like your father.”

  Kai’s eyes sharpened. “You knew him well?”

  She gave the faintest smile. “Well enough to know he would’ve been proud of this.”

  Kai didn’t respond.

  But something in him — a knot he didn’t realize had formed — loosened.

  The rest of the drive passed in calm silence, punctuated by turns, shadows over the road, and the quiet hum of the city moving in the opposite direction.

  Then, finally, the gates of the villa came into view.

  As the car rolled to a stop, Kai glanced at her.

  “I want to show you what I’ve built.”

  By the time Kai reached the villa’s front door, everything inside had already shifted into place.

  He had messaged them during the drive.

  “We have an important guest. Make the place look sharp.”

  That was all it took.

  Now, stepping through the entrance, Kai immediately noticed the difference.

  The main room was cleaner than usual — cushions straightened, books stacked neatly, even the faint scent of something herbal hanging in the air. Felix must’ve lit one of Iris’s tea blends again.

  But more than that… the group was already there.

  All of them.

  Jonah and Marcus sat on the couch with backs straighter than usual. Darren leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed. Iris stood near the window, calm but focused. Mara was perched on the armrest beside her sister. Felix sat at the table, a monitor still glowing beside him — but his hands were off the keyboard.

  It looked less like a hangout and more like a waiting room before a briefing.

  They weren’t just curious.

  They were ready.

  The door opened fully, and Kai stepped inside.

  Ms. Halden followed — composed, her gaze calmly scanning the room.

  The energy shifted the moment she crossed the threshold. No words had been spoken yet, but every instinct in the room sharpened like a blade being unsheathed.

  Kai stopped just past the center of the space, turning to face his team.

  He felt their attention. All eyes locked.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  “This is Ms. Halden,” Kai said clearly. “She’s been sent by the Watchers to assist us with the next stage of our development.”

  There was a beat — that barely-there pause when people look at one another without turning their heads.

  Kai didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

  He had already told Ms. Halden in the car: “They believe in the Watchers. That’s how I explain what I do. You’ll be introduced as someone from them — someone older, more experienced. Don’t contradict it.”

  And she had smiled gently. “Clever. You really are your father’s son.”

  Now, standing before a half-circle of gifted young operatives — her eyes slowly moving from one face to the next — Ms. Halden wore the same calm, reassuring expression.

  “It’s an honor to meet you all,” she said. “I’ve been watching your progress for some time now. The Watchers believe you’re ready for what comes next… but guidance is necessary.”

  Mara straightened slightly.

  Jonah raised an eyebrow.

  Felix glanced at Kai, then back at her.

  And Iris — always the one to speak when others remained silent — stepped forward just a little. “What kind of guidance?”

  Ms. Halden smiled. “The kind that separates talent from mastery.”

  A hush fell over the room.

  And for the first time, Kai felt something new ripple through his team.

  It wasn’t just belief anymore.

  It was momentum.

  They were about to begin something bigger than any of them had imagined.