The mountain air was unusually still the following morning, a heavy, humid blanket that smelled of pine needles and damp earth. Wang Fan sat on a flat basalt rock outside the villa, his legs still humming from the "Ghost Steps" training. His body was a mosaic of fatigue, but his mind was hungry. In this world of killers and masters, his intellect was the only part of him that felt familiar.
A sleek, matte-black off-road vehicle purred up the gravel path, its engine a low, predatory growl. It was Ruan Lin. She stepped out of the car, looking less like a Chemistry professor from Southeast University and more like a high-end corporate assassin. She wore a sharp, charcoal tactical suit, her hair pulled back into a utilitarian bun.
In her hand, she carried a heavy, reinforced silver suitcase.
