Shen Ai Silence Zhu Fen

Jakarta’s underbelly pulsed with a feverish rhythm, neon signs bleeding crimson and cobalt into the humid night. Shen Ai drifted through the labyrinth of alleyways, her black tactical gear blending with the shadows. The stench of rotting fruit and diesel fumes clung to the air, but she barely noticed—her senses were tuned to darker frequencies. Somewhere in this chaotic maze, Zhu Fen, the serpentine lieutenant of the Nine Dragons syndicate, was hiding. Or, more accurately, preening. Arrogance had always been his weakness. She remembered the way he’d smirked two years ago in Macau, his blade pressed to her mentor’s throat. “Fear is currency,” he’d hissed before pulling it. Now, she’d make him choke on it.