Resting on the edge of the desk, Maggie contemplated her surroundings. The air around her felt heavy, and the sterile neatness of the office—its polished wood, its clean lines—seemed to press in on her. In her mind, she pictured the narrow alleyways of Kowloon, the grimy streets of Hak Nam, the lives existing in the cracks between crumbling buildings. People like Liu, those who had nowhere else to turn, nowhere else to seek refuge.
It had been easier, once, to follow orders without hesitation. When she first joined the department, it was simple—a job to be done, targets to be tracked, no need to ask why. Back then the world seemed black and white. With time, things changed. Those boundaries, between duty and conscience, between her world and theirs, had begun to blur. And tonight, they seemed hazier than ever.
The file snapped shut under her hand, and Maggie let out a sigh. She had to prepare. The meeting with the informant was arranged; Kowloon's lawless enclave awaited. Brushing aside her disquiet, she straightened. There was no room for doubt. Not tonight.
Taking her jacket from the back of her chair, Maggie slipped it on with the same deliberate precision she applied to every aspect of her life. As she did, she glimpsed her reflection in the darkened window—her face, set and firm, framed by the faint glow of city lights behind her. For a moment, she barely recognised herself, the hard lines of her mouth, the coldness in her eyes.
Duty came first. It always had to.
Her heels clicked against the polished marble floor as Maggie walked down the long, silent corridor of the office building. Each step reverberated, intensifying the solitude. Past closed doors she went, each one concealing the whispers of power and policy within. Tonight, those murmurs seemed distant, insignificant. Her attention concentrated on what lay ahead—the densely packed maze of Kowloon, and the man she was sent to retrieve.
Rounding a corner, she detected the faint sound of a radio. It drifted from an open doorway, the BBC World Service crackling with static. A distinctive voice, crisp and precise, cut through the air. Eric Tsui, one of their top correspondents. An interview was underway—with an Indian diplomat, judging by the accent—about trade negotiations with China.
“…the current climate presents unique challenges,” the diplomat's voice, smooth and measured, resonated from the radio. “While India recognizes the potential for economic cooperation, there are significant political hurdles to overcome.”
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Tsui responded, sharp and inquisitive. “Ambassador Laghari, can you elaborate on these hurdles? Is the border dispute in Himalaya still a major sticking point?”
“Certainly, the border remains a sensitive issue. However, there are also concerns regarding China's growing influence in the region, particularly its relationship with Pakistan.” The diplomat maintained a carefully diplomatic tone.
Pausing at the doorway, Maggie listened. China. Always China. It dominated every conversation, every decision, every life affected by the reach of its power. Even here, in this stronghold of British authority, its presence was undeniable. The negotiations, the disputes, the political manoeuvring—all woven into the fabric of her life, her city, her mission.
A glance into the office revealed a young clerk, barely out of his teens, hunched over paperwork, the radio playing softly beside him. Unaware of her presence, he appeared absorbed in his own world, oblivious to the currents of global politics flowing around him.
Moving on, Maggie left the diplomat's words behind, replaced by the rhythmic tap of her heels against the marble. The interview, the politics, the anxieties—all faded to background noise. Tonight, Liu Wei occupied her thoughts.
Outside, the evening air wrapped around her like a damp cloth, heavy with the scents of car exhaust, street food, and the harbour's salt. A plain, unmarked sedan waited.
Two figures stood silhouetted against the lights of the atrium, under the black awning of the main entrance. At her approach, they turned, their features obscured in shadow.
“Ready?” she asked, her voice low and steady. The Security Branch officers nodded and took their positions in the front seats.
Their vehicle joined the traffic, merging into Central's nighttime flow. Through the window, Maggie observed the city passing by as they crossed the harbour—markets buzzing with activity, neon signs flashing in vivid reds and blues, people in constant motion, an unceasing tide of life.
Her thoughts turned to Liu Wei, hidden somewhere in the twisted passages of the Walled City. Would he anticipate their arrival? Did he comprehend how precarious his situation had become? Maggie clenched her jaw. He must know. Not stupid—reckless perhaps, but not stupid. His artwork, the messages he conveyed—these were acts of a man fully aware of the stakes.
But awareness and acceptance differed greatly. Now, the responsibility fell to her to confront him with the consequences of his choices.
The journey continued, the bright lights of central Hong Kong receding as they entered Kowloon. Approaching their destination, the landscape transformed. Buildings crowded closer, roads constricted, illumination dimmed. An almost palpable shift hung in the air—a sense of crossing a threshold into another realm where different rules applied, where spaces narrowed and shadows deepened.
For a moment, Maggie closed her eyes, allowing the urban symphony to wash over her—a car horn blaring, voices chattering on the street, a siren wailing in the distance. Liu's face flashed in her memory, that haunted expression in his gaze. Pushing the image from her mind, she centred her thoughts on the immediate task. Hesitation could not be afforded, nor was there time for uncertainty.
