The tunnel spat them out onto the span. The Hong Kong–Zhuhai–Macao Bridge rose like a spine across the black water, fifty kilometers pinned down with concrete pylons. Storm scars streaked the towers raw, ward paint still wet and bleeding repainted vermilion.
The limo floated across. Toll pylons blinked her outline, choked, spat glyphs that collapsed into horoscopes: FIRE DRAGON. AVOID TRAVEL. Then a false-green PASS.
Iris barked a laugh. "Good omen. Bad math."
Mist pressed against the windows, floodlights cutting it into white ribs. AR signage above the span hiccupped as her aura brushed it — WELCOME TO MACAO flickered into WATER RISING, characters smeared by weather. She tapped ash into the tray, crooked grin sharp.
"Courier, plus-one," she muttered. "Same thing."
Kwan didn't answer. His eyes stayed on her reflection, not the sea.
Light hit sudden and gaudy.
The bridge spat them onto Cotai, reclaimed land sold to excess. Casino towers reared in impossible shapes: one carved into a lotus bloom lit gold, another crowned with phoenix wings of neon, a third belching holographic smoke from its roof as if the building itself smoked incense. Fireworks, half powder, half projection, turned drizzle into confetti.
The limo slowed. The forecourt carpet shimmered jade-green, programmed to glow against wet stone. Scanner pylons blinked once, stuttered, then surrendered green in a shade that had never touched earth. Machines knew when to look away.
Corp mecha lined one side of the carpet, black-plated, halberds fizzing faint AR edges. Opposite them, triad enforcers stood bare-chested despite drizzle, koi and dragon tattoos shifting across wet muscle, cinnabar charms hammered into skin until they smoked. Neither line moved, but the air between them was bent glass.
The door opened. Heat rushed in — incense residue, perfume, fireworks still hanging in drizzle. Iris swung a heel down, leather biting false fabric that dared not stain. Faces tipped toward her. Polite. Hungry. Some turned too fast. A corp attaché's tablet hiccupped, spewing hexagrams until he smacked it flat.
A man in lacquered suit glanced at her, smirked at his tablemate. "Escort night? Kwan brought garnish."
Iris caught it, filed it, and smiled like a knife she hadn't drawn yet.
Kwan came around the limo's far side, offered her his arm without flourish.
She ignored it, dragged violet smoke, and let ash fall on jade carpet. "Fish in an aquarium," she said.
"Better garnish than bait," he murmured.
"Compliment or demotion?"
"Description."
They crossed the carpet between the two guard-lines, under monks at the lintel who bowed incense into damp sequins. The casino's chrome ribs swallowed them whole.
Inside: heat, perfume, velvet that killed sound. Chandelier hardlight fractured neon into false constellations. Waiters drifted with champagne between gaming tables. It was not simply gala, it was still Macao.
Iris plucked two flutes from the passing tray, handed one across without breaking stride, and halved hers in a single swallow. Kwan took the glass, expression carved flat, eyes flicking to hers with the weight of disapproval he didn't bother to voice. Iris leaned closer.
"You know what I love? An expensive suit's the same spell as a hi-vis vest. Carry a clipboard, no one stops you. Tailor the lapel, polish the shoes, suddenly you belong anywhere. Magic vest. Different class."
Kwan almost smiled, which on him was rebellion.
"Really?"
"Try it sometime." She tipped her glass toward him in mock toast. "You'll be amazed where you can wander."
He grunted once, unreadable, before a lacquered suit hailed him. Kwan's face rearranged into smooth diplomacy as the couple approached, perfume and AR blossoms drifting with them.
"Mr. Kwong," the man said warmly, clasping his hand. His wife smiled at Iris while her gown's projected lotus petals opened and folded in time with camera flashes. "An unexpected pleasure."
Kwong. Iris let the name settle, her grin folding neatly into something smaller, careful.
Kwan inclined his head. "Business brings me back."
The husband's gaze moved to Iris, polite curiosity sharpened under polish. "And this young lady?"
Iris set her glass down with both hands, gave a measured nod. "It is an honor to be introduced through Mr. Kwong," she said, voice smooth as etiquette demanded.
The wife's smile tightened by a thread, her AR petals glitching into static before blooming again. She murmured something about fortune and gracious hosts, then let her husband guide her onward.
When they had gone, Iris lifted her half-empty flute again, the corner of her mouth tugging sly. "Kwong?" she murmured, the word disguised as gossip.
Kwan didn't look at her. "Names are tools."
The couple dissolved back into sequins and perfume. Kwan lingered only long enough for their backs to vanish into the tide, then turned the glass in his hand as if it were a file that needed closing.
"More of this?" Iris asked lightly, tone soft enough to pass as small talk. Her smile never quite reached her eyes.
"Circulation," he said. His gaze was already mapping the room, tracking names and debts written on faces. "It matters who notices you. And who pretends not to."
Another voice hailed him. He acknowledged with a dip of the head, expression smoothing into polite anonymity. His hand brushed her elbow—brief, not possessive, but firm enough to steer.
"Stay visible," he murmured. "Don't stay long." Then he was gone, swallowed into the orbit of handshakes and lacquered smiles.
Iris lingered at the rim, free of his shadow at last. Baccarat pits thundered like temples, dice clattered like bones. But it was the deliberate clack of mahjong tiles that pulled her—clean, sharp, confident.
As she neared the brass rail, one player glanced up from his wall of tiles. His suit was cut a shade too loud, his grin sharpened by liquor. He looked her over once, then leaned toward the table with a smirk meant to carry.
"Escort night," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "Kwong brought garnish."
The other men chuckled, soft and mean.
Iris's smile crooked, bright and dangerous. She finished her champagne in one long swallow, set the glass down on the rail, and stepped closer to the tiles.