Li Zhongzhi's phone continued ringing. The Bangkok Police Department number glowed on the screen.
Selene gestured for him to answer—speaker mode enabled.
Li Zhongzhi pressed accept, his hand trembling slightly. "This is Li Zhongzhi. Do you have new information?"
The voice on the other end spoke Thai-accented English. "Mr. Li, this is Detective Somchai. Our officers discovered a female body on a beach near the harbor district. We need you to come for identification."
The color drained from Li Zhongzhi's face. His voice came out hoarse. "I'm coming now."
"I can send a car to collect you," Detective Somchai offered. "Though it would be preferable if you came directly to the scene for preliminary identification."
Selene spoke clearly toward the phone. "We'll transport Mr. Li to the location. Provide the address."
A pause on the other end—Detective Somchai clearly hadn't expected multiple people. But he provided coordinates and cross-streets without questioning further.
Li Zhongzhi ended the call, his jaw clenched tight enough to ache.
Selene stood smoothly. "We're leaving immediately. Try not to assume the worst until we have confirmation."
Wesley frowned from his seat. Could Li Zhongzhi's daughter really have died before they'd even begun searching? The man wouldn't have John Wick's fortune—the chance to collect Dragon Balls and resurrect a loved one. Current tournament competition made that impossible for ordinary humans. Even powerful supernatural beings struggled to claim victory.
Li Zhongzhi's breathing came shallow and controlled. "Thank you for accompanying me."
The group filed out of the conference room. The Bangkok chapter director had two Rolls-Royce vehicles waiting at the curb within minutes—Li Zhongzhi and Selene in the lead car, Wesley, John Wick, and Eddie Brock following in the second.
In the second vehicle, Eddie broke the heavy silence. "This can't be his daughter, right? We just arrived. The timing would be..."
He trailed off, not wanting to articulate the cruel coincidence.
Wesley's expression showed rare sympathy. "I hope it's not her. The psychological impact would be devastating."
John Wick's voice came flat and cold. "If it is his daughter, and the death was murder, I'll make whoever's responsible pay. Every person connected to it. No matter how well-protected they think they are."
Eddie sighed, black tendrils briefly visible at his collar as Venom expressed similar sentiment. "Even if it's not his daughter... it's still someone's child. Someone's family."
In the lead vehicle, Li Zhongzhi stared through the window at Bangkok's nighttime streets—neon signs, street vendors, tourists laughing without care. The ordinary world continuing while his own hung suspended between hope and despair.
Memories cascaded unbidden. His wife's death when their daughter was seven. Raising her alone. Refusing to remarry because it felt like betrayal. Watching her grow from sweet child to rebellious teenager as the gap between them widened.
He'd been protective. Too protective. Drove her away with the same love that was supposed to keep her safe. When had she stopped telling him things? When had their conversations become arguments?
This trip to Bangkok—she'd come without informing him. A deliberate choice. Part of her ongoing rebellion against his overprotection.
And now...
"Mr. Li."
Selene's voice pulled him from the spiral. He looked at her—this vampire woman whose very existence defied everything he'd thought he understood about reality.
"We're here with a mission from our leader," Selene said, her tone carrying absolute certainty. "Part of that mission is helping you. If your daughter is alive, we will find her. We will bring her home safely."
She paused, letting that sink in. "And if she's... if something has happened to her, as long as there's even the slightest human culpability, we'll make the responsible parties pay. No matter their connections. No matter how powerful they are in this region."
Li Zhongzhi nodded slowly. He understood the implicit contract. If he'd led them to intelligence about resurgent trafficking networks, they'd deliver justice for his daughter. Unless her death was purely accidental—natural causes, genuine misfortune—the Assassin Brotherhood would exact vengeance.
"Thank you," he managed.
The car slowed, pulling to the curb near a beach access point.
Police vehicles lined the street—marked cars, unmarked sedans, a coroner's van. Yellow crime scene tape cordoned off a section of beach beneath a concrete overpass. Crowds of onlookers pressed against the barriers. News crews had already arrived, cameras rolling, reporters speaking into microphones with the urgent energy of breaking tragedy.
Two Rolls-Royce vehicles parking in the middle of a crime scene investigation drew immediate attention. Police officers turned to watch as the occupants emerged.
Four Europeans in tactical gear and expensive suits. One middle-aged Asian man whose expression showed barely controlled anguish.
A Thai detective—mid-thirties, professional bearing—approached with clear surprise. He addressed Li Zhongzhi in English. "Mr. Li? I wasn't expecting..." His gaze traveled to the Rolls-Royces. "Hong Kong police don't typically travel like this."
Li Zhongzhi's voice came steady through force of will. "These are associates I hired. They're helping with the search."
The detective's attention shifted to Selene and her team. "Associates?"
"Assassin Brotherhood," Li Zhongzhi said simply. "They came from New York headquarters."
The detective—his name tag read SOMCHAI—went very still. Then his expression shifted through surprise to something approaching respect mixed with wariness.
"The Brotherhood..." Somchai studied each face carefully. "I wasn't aware they handled missing person cases."
Li Zhongzhi shook his head. "They don't, normally. But my case led them to discover other criminal activity in the region. They've agreed to help me as part of their larger operation."
Somchai absorbed this information with the careful attention of someone who understood the Brotherhood's reputation. His father-in-law—the Bangkok Police Chief—had met with their local chapter director. Somchai knew exactly what kind of organization they were.
And if New York headquarters had deployed personnel to Bangkok, something significant was happening.
"I see," Somchai said carefully. He gestured toward the cordoned area. "Please, follow me. The body is under the overpass."
The group moved as a unit—Li Zhongzhi flanked by supernatural predators who'd crossed an ocean to hunt human traffickers.
They approached the yellow tape. A uniformed officer moved to stop them, but Somchai flashed his credentials. "They're with me."
The officer stepped aside.
Media cameras tracked their movement. Reporters shouted questions that went unanswered. Flash photography painted the scene in stark bursts of white light.
Under the concrete overpass, more yellow tape created an inner perimeter. Forensic technicians worked methodically—photographing, measuring, documenting. A white sheet covered a form on the sand.
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