Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and betrayal. Winston clapped him on the shoulder. "Wei, my brother. Sit. You look like a cop."

The glass in his hand cracked.

Below, the Golden Dragon Casino pulsed with a different kind of heartbeat: mahjong tiles clacking, cheap whiskey laughing, and the low, guttural hum of the 14K triad. Winston Chu, the Red Pole, had invited him tonight. A test of loyalty. Wei adjusted his leather jacket, felt the cool press of his service pistol against his ribs, and descended the fire escape.

It was a humid night in Hong Kong. The kind that made the neon signs drip with color and the alleyways sweat secrets. Wei Shen stood on the rooftop of a Mong Kok tenement, listening to the distant wail of a police siren—his siren, technically, though no one here knew that.

"I'm asking as a friend." She placed a photo on the table. His sister, Mimi, standing next to a man with a dragon tattoo on his neck. "Before she disappeared, she left this. Said if anything happened, find the sleeping dog."

"You're Wei Shen," she said.