Night deepened into a blue-black hush by the time Jin Yue reached the district behind the lower wharves. The official warehouses...spacious, lantern-lit, guarded...sat closer to the main piers. But he was not going there.
The place he sought lay farther inland, where walls rotted faster than grain and guards preferred bribes to wages.
An illegal storage yard.
A place where men vanished without leaving footprints.
A place where the rope fibers in his sleeve likely had a home.
He approached from the river side, where reeds grew tall and the ground softened into mud beneath his boots. The air smelled of brine, mold, and old fish guts drying on warped planks. Now and then, the faint clang of metal drifted through the wind...chains, perhaps, swaying on hooks within the buildings.
Jin Yue slowed his breathing, letting his senses widen.
This was something his omega body excelled at...not submission, but attunement. Quiet instinct. A pulse tuned to danger the way river water feels a storm before it breaks.
He stepped lightly, weight spread evenly, each motion soundless.
Up ahead, huge silhouettes rose...three long warehouses arranged like crooked teeth, their roofs patched with mismatched tiles. Only one held a lantern outside, swaying weakly in its metal frame.
The moment he saw the layout, Jin Yue's mind mapped the terrain automatically.
Primary warehouse: guarded.
Secondary warehouse: no lantern...likely locked from inside.
Third warehouse: collapsed corner...possible entry point.
He crouched behind a low ridge, letting shadows pool around him. The rough bark of a willow branch brushed against his shoulder as he studied the scene.
Two guards flanked the lantern-lit entrance. Their posture was loose, careless...men confident no one dared watch them.
One leaned against a crate, yawning loudly.
The other paced in lazy circles, tapping a short club against his thigh.
Their armor was mismatched: one wore half a scraped-off chestplate; the other had a padded vest stained with oil. Smugglers' hirelings. Weak, but not blind.
Jin Yue noted their patterns:
Guard A, yawned every 40–50 seconds, head tilted back, eyes half-shut.
Guard B, paced in a predictable three-step rhythm...left, right, left, turn, repeat.
Predictable meant breakable.
Inside, faint sounds drifted outward...shuffling feet, muffled voices, wood scraping against stone. Something being moved. Or hidden.
He shifted slightly, peering around the ridge.
A third man sat atop the warehouse roof, legs dangling over the edge. His silhouette was thin, almost boyish. He picked at his teeth with a sliver of wood, glancing around now and then, bored.
A rooftop lookout.
Most illegal operations did not bother with one.
Which meant whoever ran this place feared exposure more than usual.
The guards weren't watching the river approach...perhaps assuming only smugglers came from that direction.
Jin Yue nearly snorted. Arrogance made the world easier.
He touched the rope fragment inside his sleeve.
Island rope.
Island knots.
Demon pirate methods.
His jaw tightened.
They were stirring again.
He took a slow step back into the reeds. From this vantage point, he could circle the far edge of the yard without being seen. The reeds parted with only the faintest whisper, and the river murmured close by.
He stopped at a narrow strip where reeds ended and bare earth began. His eyes traced the shadows along the warehouses. Even in darkness, his senses caught every detail:
A crack near the base of Warehouse Two...small, but large enough for a child's body.
Missing roof tiles along Warehouse Three's ridge...an entry for someone precise enough.
A shape behind stacked crates...too still to be debris, too tense to be anything but human.
Three guards, then.
Three men standing between him and the truth.
He memorized their scent signatures too...cheap wine, sweat, damp straw. None smelled like the ocean. None like brine-soaked ropes. None like pirates.
Hired hands. Disposable.
He turned his gaze to a gap near the broken corner of Warehouse Three. A tangle of crates stacked badly created a partial ladder to the middle beam.
Perfect.
He dug into his cloak and pulled out a small fishing hook, reshaped into a climbing aid. Not that he needed it...his pulse worked wonders in silence and balance...but tools made motions smoother.
His fingers ran over the metal's curve.
No matter how many battles he walked into, this familiar shape always steadied him.
Fishing and killing...strange that the same line connected both.
Before moving, he reached into his bundle and lifted a small book he had kept tucked away...Sea Currents and River Mouths. A scribe's log of tides, knots, and sailor folklore. He flipped it open to a sketch of the island knot.
Three loops.
Cross under.
Twist back.
He studied it long enough for the ink to press itself into memory again.
Then he tucked the book away and moved.
He drifted through the shadows like river fog.
No wind, no footstep, no crunch of gravel announced his passing. His breath flattened, heartbeat slowed, presence thinning until even animals would overlook him.
He slipped between crates, pressed against the warehouse wall, then reached the broken corner. A loose tile shifted under his weight...but Jin Yue caught it with his fingertips before it fell.
He eased upward.
The guard on the roof swung his legs idly.
Jin Yue paused, balanced in a crouch against the corner beam, scarcely an arm's length from the lookout. If the man turned his head, he would see a pale face in the shadows.
But the guard only yawned, spat over the side, and muttered something about "not being paid enough for graveyard shifts."
Jin Yue's eyes flicked upward.
From this vantage, he saw more.
The rooftop tiles of Warehouse One had patterns of wear...some newer, some scraped by recent traffic. Someone moved frequently at night along those beams.
Perhaps carrying crates.
Perhaps dragging bodies.
He slid downward, letting shadows fold around him like a second skin. At the base of the warehouse, he pressed his ear to the cracked wood.
Voices drifted through.
"…shipment leaving tomorrow night…"
"…boys strong, fetch high price…"
"…keep them quiet…"
Two heartbeats.
Two men inside.
Careful, but not careful enough.
He memorized the rhythm of their steps, the cadence of their words. He traced the side where the boards bowed inward...just enough space for someone being pushed against them.
Then he circled the warehouse perimeter once more, noting every weakness.
A window half-covered by rotting tarp.
A broken hinge on the back door.
A section of roof where tile edges lifted enough for someone to slip under.
Preparation was not dramatic for him.
It was quiet.
Unemotional.
A calculation of breath and angles.
He gathered these details without thought, the way one gathers water into cupped hands...naturally, inevitably.
Then he knelt behind a row of crates stacked near the river-facing side. This was the only blind spot in all four guards' line of sight. He ran his hands over the wood, checking for vibrations.
None.
Good.
He reached for his fishing line.
The familiar metal spool clicked softly as he unwound several lengths. Under moonlight, the filament gleamed faintly...almost invisible, thinner than a strand of hair, stronger than steel.
He wrapped it around his fingers, testing its tension.
His pulse steadied.
Fishing line in hand, he was both fisherman and executioner.
His omega instincts quieted...not out of submission, but because his mind fell into a calm he rarely achieved outside fishing and reading.
He crouched lower, letting the shadows settle on him fully. He closed his eyes briefly, breathing in scents carried by the night wind:
Tar.
Wet wood.
Rotted rope.
Fear from within the warehouse.
And faintly...brine.
Not river brine.
Sea brine.
His eyes snapped open.
Demon pirates' scent signature.
Diluted.
Faint.
But present.
Someone from their islands had been here recently.
He rose silently, anchored by the steady pulse of the river beside him.
Tonight, he was not yet the Moon Ghost.
Tonight, he would not kill...not until he knew where the boys were.
But the shadows already knew his shape.
And the warehouse already feared the footsteps it did not hear.
Jin Yue slipped back into the night, his preparations complete.
Tomorrow, the hunt would begin.