Sneaking onto Dae-Jung’s barge had been easy.

  As the hour neared 7 pm, Chet shucked his Militia’s uniform blazer and donned a crisp, black one. He toed off his rugged boots and replaced it with a pair of dress shoes that Sam lent him. They were a tight squeeze, but now he could easily blend into the crowd.

  The barge had been docked with a hefty wooden ramp connecting it to the concrete. A long line was already forming; everybody wearing their best clothes.

  Chet’s eyes narrowed as he regaled them— criminals, all of them.But to anyone else, the barge just looked like it was housing an extravagant party.

  Chet remained in line with his ticket in hand.

  He knew that Sam and Kizuna’s troupe were busy with their own part in the plan. One of the troupe members— a quiet, hulking man called Zhao; had a teleportation Path of sorts.

  Strapping a silencer onto a pistol, Sam explained that Zhao could shoot two portals. One on solid land, and another on the barge.

  Like that, Sam and his troupe could easily board the boat as well.

  Chet absentmindedly handed the golden ticket to one of the attending sailors. They bowed to him and let him enter the barge without any preamble.

  He raised a brow at how lackadaisical the security seemed to be. Sam had briefed him beforehand, and told him that the Earthly Branches were supposed to be here.

  But as he swept an appraising gaze across the boat— Chet found nothing. Perhaps, they were in disguise.

  The Enforcer made sure to keep his eyes and ears open. He had to make sure that the troupe could board the barge without being noticed.

  If he caught something, then the sailors— and inevitably, the Earthly Branches would, as well.

  But nothing stood out as he boarded the barge. Well, nothing except the extravagant decor. Small tables were lined with food and drink, and an array of seats were poised in front of a wooden stage, most likely for the buying and selling of their captives.

  The thought made Chet’s expression sour.

  “Chet.” Sam’s voice reached him. The man appeared from behind a sharp corner of the barge’s higher level. He was shadowed perfectly by the curved staircase, his rosy spectacles glinting as he stepped closer.

  Just like that, the gaggle of children followed after his ex-partner’s heels. Silent yet awestruck, they all looked slightly spellbound by the barge’s festivities.

  “Looks like you all boarded safely,” Chet assessed, watching as the crowd on the barge began to grow larger. “I assume that we should wait a little more before we begin the plan.”

  “Yes,” Sam went over to grab a drink, appearing as casual as he could. Of course, the man was already wearing one of his expensive, exported suits. Hedonist, Chet bit back the insult. “The more people onboard, the better. Dae-Jung and his men will find it harder to spot us.”

  “So we’re just supposed to sit around and wait while they could be hurting Kizuna?” one of Sam’s kids frowned. It was the girl, crossing her arms with impeccable grace. Chet tried his best to recall their roster of names.

  “He’s probably sleeping.” Mamoru said. Chet remembered the name. “That’s what they usually do for these sorts of parties.”

  “You frequent these a lot, huh?” Chet sneered. Of course, Kizuna’s team was made up of bastards.

  The kid’s shoulders grew straighter. “I was on-stage.”

  That was all Chet needed (and the sharp glare from Sam and the other kids) to snap his mouth shut. This was when he noticed the weird kid— Pachinko, stepping up as Kizuna’s Beast remained on his shoulder.

  “I agree with Shinju,” Pachinko said, nodding at Hun as if they were sharing a conversation in their heads. They probably were. “If we leave Kizuna alone for any longer, I assure you that he’ll do something stupid.”

  “What, like fighting the sailors?” Wen scoffed.

  “No. Even worse than that—” Pachinko grinned, as if the thought brought him immense joy. “He’ll find Isagani and break out. Of course, that will cause a massive ruckus… that hound doesn’t understand how to keep things discreet.”

  Sam pondered this, before turning to Pachinko. “You may be right. We have to do this fast and quietly.”

  “Why?” Both of the twins chirped at the same time. They were eerie, Chet thought.

  “Because we’re no match for the Earthly Branches,” Pachinko shrugged passively. “They’re probably crawling all over this barge, prowling for us. They’re going to expect the Triads to have sent a team to save the Golden Phantom, after all.”

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  Pachinko turned leisurely to the Beast on his shoulders. “Hun?”

  Just like that, the creature swooped away from them, disappearing in the form of a housefly. Chet watched, mouth hanging open. “Xian, what’s that thing doing?”

  “He told me that he’ll find Kizuna for us,” Pachinko grinned.

  Sam nodded. “Once he does, I don’t want anyone acting rash.”

  Everyone in their little reconnaissance mission agreed.

  In silence, all of them waited for the barge to slowly move away from the shore. Slowly, people gussied about, exchanging small talk leisurely. It was as if they weren’t about to barter for the lives of living human beings. Chet shuddered.

  Now that they were far from shore, they could finally complete the next part of their plan.

  Chet, Sam, and the rest of the kids (excluding Pachinko) slinked toward the staff basement; which Hun had already scouted for before they even boarded the barge.

  Chet knew that it would appear suspicious for their entire group to enter the basement. So for now, it would only be him and Sam.

  As they went, the rest of the kids formed a leisurely group around the basement door. They tried to appear as nonchalant and natural as possible. They grabbed a few drinks and chatted to one another, as loud and posh as the rest of the patrons.

  It was a good thing that they worked in a cabaret. Their exquisite wardrobe easily fitted in with their lavish surroundings.

  Chet blared his aura softly, making sure to keep it hidden away from prying eyes. He only had a minute or so before people would start smelling stark iron in the air; so he worked quickly.

  With Sam by his side, Chet bent over the metal door, quickly studying the bulky pin and tumbler lock they used.

  Silently, Sam motioned at Shinju. The girl obediently passed him two hairpins from the immaculate twist upon her head.

  “How is he supposed to pick that lock?” Wen hissed under his breath. “This is gonna take us hours.”

  “Not quite,” Sam answered, before Chet could snap something in return. “Chet’s A Step Toward the Sky allows him to find physical weakness in all things. And what are locks, if not a series of pins that have an inherent weakness to them?”

  Chet decided to offer his own explanation as well. “Most lockpickers need a few minutes to look for the right seized pins in order to press them up… but I don't. I just know.”

  With a soft click, the lock was picked. Chet passed the hairpins back to Shinju, even though they were both bent out of shape.

  “Remember the plan,” Sam whispered, right before he and Chet slipped through the door. With a heavy slam, they were in.

  A long hallway greeted them. The stairs led them downward as Chet and Sam steadily began pacing. This place smelled sharply of seawater, lightbulbs flickering on top of them.

  They tiptoed as they went, unsure if there was a sailor that they might need to incapacitate.

  Chet frowned as they carried on. Being with Sam like this reminded him too much of the past—

  How they were both only at the cusp of adulthood, running missions like they knew what the hell they were doing.

  Sam probably did. Chet was just along for the ride— a soldier, sent to protect a prissy stenographer.

  “Hey,” Chet started.

  Sam ignored him.

  Chet kicked his shin. Sam nearly snapped his neck when he turned to look at him. “What?”

  “Don’t worry, if there was anyone down here we could get rid of him in a flash,” Chet shrugged. “I wanted to ask: what did you do with that intelligence you stole? Y’know, the one you stabbed me in the shoulder for.”

  “Chet,” Sam said warningly.

  “C’mon. There’s nobody around. I don’t give a damn if it’s confidential information.”

  Sam didn’t reply. Of course he wouldn’t. Damn rat would rather bite on a cyanide pill than say anything. Like all the other loyal spies of the Isran Isles.

  “Fine,” Chet sighed. “Tell me this, then. Why’d you lock the door behind us?”

  Sam stopped mid-step.

  Chet continued. “The plan was for us to turn off the generator, and then assist your troupe with getting the captives off the barge… So why did you lock us in? Who’s getting us out of here?”

  Sam was silent.

  “Or maybe the right question is…” Chet drawled. “What are you planning to do to me, down here?”

  In a flash, Sam whipped around with his dagger drawn.

  He poised directly over Chet’s shoulder— a garish repeat of when they were eighteen. On the final mission that they would have together.

  But Chet was no longer as foolish as he used to be. He caught Sam’s wrist with one hand, slamming him face-first against the adjacent wall.

  Chet pinned the other man in place, forcing the dagger out of Sam’s grip.

  The Enforcer knew that in a fight, he could easily defeat Sam. Sam wasn’t a Cultivator. Despite how physically adept the other man was compared to the general public—

  Chet had trained and fought for years; once as a soldier and again as an Enforcer.

  “You’re too late,” Sam spat. “And I’m sorry, but— orders are orders. We have to complete them.”

  “We?” Chet echoed.

  Pachinko.

  That damn Pachinko— who had gone ahead to find Isagani and K.

  A horrified growl forced its way out of his lungs as Chet slammed Sam against the wall again, hoping to break his nose against it.

  But when he pulled back, his hold weakened— and Sam took advantage of it by slipping down, out of Chet’s grip.

  In a split second, Sam raised his foot, catching Chet’s chin in a harsh kick.

  The Enforcer stumbled backward, his aura blazing with a ferocity he hadn’t expected. He yelled, “What is Pachinko going to do to them, Sam?”

  Sam was just a man. And men had a hundred— no, a thousand weaknesses.

  They appeared like pinpricks upon Chet’s vision, splotching atop Sam’s body. A strike to the uneven rise of his shoulders, a kick to his less dominant leg, or a jab at his neck.

  That would be enough to make Sam unable to move. Chet could still warn Kizuna’s troupe— and they could take down Pachinko together.

  “I am not losing to you again,” Chet announced.

  “And I have never disappointed the Isran Isles.” Sam shrugged, as if his accomplishments mattered more. “I promise you: I will win, one way or another.”

  In perfect synchronicity, they met in the middle— and the battle began.