The path behind the mansion twisted into overgrowth, the kind not usually allowed to exist within the Wang estate's curated image. There, nestled behind layers of untamed ivy and rusted iron fencing, sat an old building with a slanted roof and moss-covered walls. The structure sagged like it had given up centuries ago, and yet somehow it still stood—an outlier on a property built with precision.
"That's it," Li Wang said, voice tight, as they crouched in the brush overlooking the rear quadrant. "The old chapel. No one goes there anymore. Not even the staff. It's not part of the compound's official map."
"Perfect," Varon muttered, eyes scanning the perimeter. "That's where the bastard would hide his filth."
Security sensors dotted the eaves and rooftop. Small mounted turrets, sleek and vicious, tracked in lazy circles—motion-sensitive, heat-calibrated. Lethal.
"Give me sixty seconds," Varon said, already unfolding a flat device from his side pouch.
