Luna POV
Hong Kong rose from the water like a promise of neon and steel, its skyline a jagged graph of ambition against the gray dawn. I stood at the railing of the ferry, Eleanor warm against my chest, the wind tearing at my hair with fingers that felt almost deliberate. Mason slept in the cabin below, his wounded shoulder finally stitched by a doctor Whitmore had once trusted. Ethan sat with the girls, his laptop open, tracing digital breadcrumbs that led nowhere and everywhere at once.
The message from the architect—if that was truly what spoke through Eleanor—had given us coordinates. Not an address. A set of numbers that resolved to a building in Kowloon, a tower of glass and shadow that did not appear on any map Derek could access, any satellite Cici could hack, any database the wo
