As the martial law operations continued, more and more Omegas were arrested and detained. Among them, an increasing number were confirmed members of the Lightwing Society.
Public fear and hostility toward Omegas grew by the day, while the prosecutor’s office gained more and more authority. In these times of shortages, people even waited outside the office’s entrance, shoving gifts into the hands of prosecutors—hoping to gain favor amidst the chaos or take the opportunity to settle personal grudges.
On the surface, Doyle refused all extravagant gifts like fine liquor and jewelry. But behind closed doors, he would accept items like fruit and pastries—things that weren’t too expensive. The prosecutors under him followed suit. For several days, as soon as Luo Hai stepped into the office, the air was filled with the scent of high-quality tea and desserts. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he had walked into a luxury hotel.
As a member integrated into the interpersonal web of the Procuratorate, Luo Hai was no exception. He accepted the bribes without a word, brought them back to the office, unwrapped them, and handed them to Colin. Colin would then find opportunities to secretly distribute the food to Omega prisoners in the jail.
By day, Luo Hai was a corrupt prosecutor; by night, he would write down all the recent movements of the prosecutor office on a slip of paper, go buy a cup of coffee, and tuck the note inside the cash he handed to the café owner. The owner would print the previous reply inside the coffee cup sleeve.
Information exchange was best kept concise—the longer the message, the greater the risk and trouble at every step. Yet in a life where each day dragged like a year, those few words were often their only sign of each other’s existence. At some point—no one remembered when or who started it—they began adding a brief personal note after the intelligence, something as short and compressed as possible.
—Nightingale is doing well, personnel arranged. Does your ear still hurt?
—Gained Kliman’s trust. Need one more thing. Doesn’t hurt, almost healed.
—Pick up the item at the fruit stand on East Third Road, Thursday 18:30. Don’t be careless, watch for infection.
—Most Omega prison guards have been transferred to the North District. The prison is now under Flock’s supervision. Cold wave coming tomorrow—keep warm.
—Diversion in District Three, northwest area on Sunday. Will draw the Prosecutor’s attention. Miss you.
…
Every note from Eugene moved Luo Hai deeply. If he could, he would collect each one like a schoolgirl, carefully storing them in a delicate metal box. That way, on nights when nightmares woke him, he could pull them out and use Eugene’s handwriting to fight off the cold, relentless loneliness.
But reality didn’t allow such indulgence. He couldn’t let even the slightest risk exist. The moment he read the message, he would burn the cup, watching the handwriting vanish in the searing flames.
He prayed this all-or-nothing plan would go smoothly, flawlessly. Only then, when everything was over, could he finally begin to fulfill the promises he had yet to keep.
But prayer was useless. The gods don’t heed the wishes of mortals.
The last time he received a coffee cup with Eugene’s handwriting was on a Wednesday morning.
Normally, the café only opened at night, but that day the sign lit up early. Luo Hai, sharp-eyed, didn’t overlook the oddity. He walked over and bought a cup of coffee. The owner didn’t even take his money.
After finishing the coffee, Luo Hai saw a line of small text on the inside of the cup wall. Compared to usual, it was especially concise—just an address.
—Bell Street No. 63 tonight. Meet.
Luo Hai’s heart skipped uncontrollably at the last word. Eugene had asked to meet. That meant the core members of the Lightwing Society were still safe and everything was progressing well.
No matter what Eugene wanted to say, the word “meet” was like a ray of dawn piercing the darkness in Luo Hai’s heart, brightening his entire mood.
After burning the paper cup in an alley, Luo Hai quickened his pace toward the Prosecutor’s Office. Just the thought of seeing Eugene that night made even the walk to work feel lighter.
But as he stepped onto the building’s staircase and reached the door of his office, something unexpected happened.
His office had been ransacked—without any warning or prior notice. It looked like a storm had swept through.
Every drawer in his desk had been pulled open, cabinet doors left wide, their contents strewn across the floor. Even the decorations on the windowsill hadn’t been spared—smashed into several pieces.
Luo Hai stood at the doorway, his face cold as ice.
Colin was the first to notice his arrival and hurried over. “Boss…”
“Colin, what’s going on?” Luo Hai asked calmly.
“This is… um…” Colin stammered, “Well, it’s…”
Just then, a voice came from behind Luo Hai.
“I did it. What, someone seems unhappy?”
Luo Hai spun around. As expected, Colette Doyle was standing behind him, hands clasped behind his back and smiling cheerfully.
“Your place looked a little messy, so I sent someone to tidy it up for you—didn’t want any important case-related documents getting buried and forgotten.”
Luo Hai looked calmly at Doyle. “Did you find any? The buried, important documents?”
“Nothing yet,” Doyle replied with the same smile. “Looks like you keep things pretty tidy.”
“A habit from childhood,” Luo Hai said flatly. “Thanks to your good teaching.”
“That sharp tongue of yours? Definitely not my doing.” Doyle reached out and patted Luo Hai on the cheek, leaving behind an unreadable look before turning and walking away.
Luo Hai said nothing and stepped into the office to start cleaning up the mess.
He had expected Doyle to be suspicious, but he hadn’t expected him to act so decisively, so thoroughly, without a shred of courtesy.
Especially when he returned to his apartment that evening—only to find it had been ransacked as well.
Every corner had been overturned, drawers and books scattered across the floor. Even the poor alpaca plush that usually just dozed on the sofa had been sliced open from head to toe with a sharp instrument, its stuffing flying everywhere.
By the time Luo Hai regained control of his body, he realized his fingers had clenched so hard into his palm that they had nearly drawn blood.
He had always been cautious, so he wasn’t worried any real evidence had been found. But for Doyle to suspect him this much meant his situation was no longer safe. He had to warn Eugene—fast.
Luo Hai grabbed his coat and rushed out the door, hurrying toward Bell Street as quickly as possible.
Bell Street was just three blocks from his apartment, but it was near the outskirts—quite remote. No. 63 was an unremarkable entomology research lab, with no surveillance cameras around—an ideal rendezvous point.
Luo Hai kept his head down, focused only on getting there, his mind racing with what to say to Eugene.
Then, suddenly, a sharp pain came from his right ear. Luo Hai tilted his head and reached up to touch his earlobe.
His earring had snagged on the fuzz of his coat collar. He had to patiently untangle it with his fingers. It was this small, unconscious tilt of the head that made him glance at the inner lining of his coat.
And then his breath stopped.
A tiny black dot, glowing red, was stuck to the fabric.
He recognized it immediately—one of those convenient little gadgets he knew too well: a GPS-enabled listening device.
In that instant, a chill ran down his spine.
When had this thing been planted on him? How long had he been carrying it? How much had Doyle heard? Was this why he had torn apart his office and his apartment?
No—wait. Stay calm. If Doyle had real evidence, he wouldn’t have just searched his place. He would have arrested and executed him long ago.
That bug was definitely not in place long enough to capture anything truly useful. If he stayed cautious from now on, there was still a chance to salvage everything.
Like right now—he was still some distance away from No. 63. As long as he pretended to be here for something else and left like nothing had happened, he might still be in the clear.
His mind racing, Luo Hai turned around and walked toward a nearby phone store. If he remembered correctly, this was the only store of its brand anywhere near his apartment—honestly, the perfect excuse—
But right at that critical moment, a voice rang out behind him, so familiar it made his heart jolt.
“Luo Hai!”
He froze. Even turning his head took effort.
Eugene was just a few steps behind him, smiling like always. The streetlight above cast a soft glow over his face—one Luo Hai had memorized in dreams both waking and sleeping.
He wanted nothing more than to throw himself into Eugene’s arms, to crash into him hard enough to knock them both back, to feel every inch of his Alpha warmth, scent, and the press of lips with zero space between them.
But not now. Not like this.
“Did you miss me?” Eugene smiled wider, opening his arms and stepping toward him.
Luo Hai instantly stepped back. Eugene raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak again, Luo Hai had already pulled the pistol from his waistband and pointed it squarely at his head.
“Eugene Oddis,” Luo Hai said coldly. “Long time no see.”
