"Seven names. One bet. The devil smiles from behind a business card."

  November 8, 2035

  “They’ve been in there for two hours now,” Rocco muttered, his voice like gravel rolling in a tin can. He leaned back against the metal paneling of the van, arms crossed, the fabric of his tight grey shirt pulling taut over thick muscle. His legs were stretched out, combat boots crossed at the ankles. He chewed on a toothpick like it was something personal.

  Sarah didn’t reply right away. She sat upright, spine straight despite the hard metal seat, eyes trained on the largest of the monitors in front of her. The warehouse feed was unnervingly still, not a soul moving, not even a flicker of motion from the dusty light spilling through its broken upper windows. You could be forgiven for thinking it was a paused frame.

  “They’re cleaning house,” she said finally, her voice calm and clipped. “Sources say the operations manager went rogue. Must be one stubborn man if it’s taking Jiro and his men this long to beat him into submission.”

  Rocco shifted his weight with a creak of metal. “Triad, right?”

  “Everyone knows it. We just can’t really pin anything on them yet.”

  Sarah pulled the slim dossier from beside her and flipped it open with one hand. Julius Go stared back up at her, that same insufferable smile fixed on his face like a smirk frozen in time. His eyes glinted like he knew a secret no one else did, or worse, like he knew yours.

  “This Julius guy…” she murmured, more to herself than to Rocco.

  “The Triad fixer?” he asked, his tone halfway between curiosity and dismissal.

  “Yeah. The timing of his appearance is suspect. Renz’s team dug up his travel history. He bought his plane ticket back the same day Severino sent the blackmail materials. My friend in Thai Intelligence says he left his last assignment there unfinished. So this wasn’t a victory lap.”

  She didn’t look up as she spoke, thumbing through more pages, customs scans, security footage stills, chatter logs.

  Rocco grinned, toothpick shifting to the other side of his mouth. “Can’t you see?”

  Sarah blinked. “See what?”

  He gestured vaguely toward the monitor, where shadows still danced in a lonely pool of light just inside the warehouse entrance. “He came back for Jiro. The guy’s in a much weaker position now than two months ago, so Julius shows up to bail him out.”

  “But why would he drop an assignment for Jiro?”

  Then, with a shit-eating grin, “Didn’t you clock the body language earlier? When they were walking in? Those two are definitely sleeping together.”

  Sarah’s face didn’t twitch. Her expression remained a mask of cool professionalism, but the theory gave her pause. It tickled something behind her eyes, a thread of narrative she hadn’t quite pulled on yet.

  “That would explain the sudden departure from Thailand,” she said aloud, almost begrudgingly.

  Rocco gave a small chuckle. “And the Severino timing could just be a coincidence.”

  “Yeah,” she said softly. Her gaze drifted back to the screen.

  A long silence stretched between them, the kind only two field agents could sit through without tension.

  Then Rocco, too casually: “Speaking of, isn’t your boyfriend also on our monitoring list?”

  She didn’t look at him. “He isn’t my boyfriend.”

  “No?”

  “We’re just fuck buddies.” Her tone was flat, not defensive, simply truth. “And yes, he fits the profile of Severino’s next target. Boss assigned a group to keep eyes on him.”

  Rocco chuckled again, this time with genuine amusement. “How many potential targets is boss asking us to discretely monitor again?”

  “Seven.”

  He gave a low whistle, leaning back deeper into his seat. “Does your fuck buddy know his life’s in potential danger?”

  Sarah finally turned, just slightly, her shoulder angling toward him. “No. Last we met, I didn’t mention it. He did invite me to a corporate retreat he’s hosting this weekend though.”

  “And you turned it down because of Severino?”

  She nodded.

  Rocco stared at her, incredulous. “The guy invites you to a getaway and you still think it’s casual? Come on. Javier’s obviously trying to court you.”

  “I know.” Sarah’s voice was steady. “But I’d like to keep my distance from him for now. He’s like a golden retriever. Loyal. Excitable. Too much optimism in the eyes.”

  She paused, leaned forward, and tapped the monitor to adjust focus. “And I just don’t have the energy to reciprocate his feelings right now.”

  The cabin fell silent again, the hush broken only by the soft whirring of the van’s air conditioning, a mechanical breath exhaling into stale air. Rocco leaned back in his seat, one hand lazily tapping the side of his knee.

  "You think we should turn the AC off?" he asked, probably not because he cared about fuel, but because boredom made his thoughts wander. Sarah feels it’s easy to predict where his mind would wander if the situation was boring enough.

  Before she could answer, movement flickered across the monitor. Her eyes snapped forward. The static tableau of the warehouse gate shifted, headlights blinked on, then multiplied.

  “There,” she said sharply.

  From the main gate, a black SUV rolled out. Then another. Then another. Like teeth on a zipper being pulled open, five in total emerged from the warehouse compound, one after the other, all tinted and identical.

  “Matches the plates and number of vehicles we tailed entering the compound earlier,” Sarah muttered.

  She leaned into the mic clipped to her collar. “Team 2, stay here and maintain surveillance on the compound. We’re tailing the convoy.”

  No hesitation. She didn’t wait for an acknowledgment before tapping twice on the dividing glass to the driver. “Move. Keep distance. Low lights.”

  The van’s engine growled to life beneath them. The driver eased out from their roadside hiding spot, tires kissing asphalt as they began their slow, careful pursuit.

  Rocco kept his gaze forward, but tilted his head toward her. “You think they got the manager to submit?”

  Sarah didn’t answer right away. Her fingers drummed lightly on the tablet mounted beside the monitors.

  “Do you remember Tatay Jackman?” she asked, voice even.

  “Yeah.” Rocco leaned back, his tone darkening with recognition. “My buddies from the unit that handled that case still talk about him. Why?”

  “Well…” She adjusted the screen angle, more out of habit than need. “While doing a background on Julius, Renz’s team found something weird. Turns out he was in contact with Atong Terry the whole week before the massacre.”

  Rocco turned his head slowly. His expression didn’t change much, but the air in the van shifted.

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  “You mean…”

  “It’s nothing,” Sarah cut in, almost too quickly. “Just guesses. Circumstantial stuff. But…”

  She flipped through the notes on her mind. “One of Tatay Jackman’s surviving lieutenants mentioned an unnamed figure who showed up out of nowhere. Fits Julius’ build and manner. Guy demanded Jackman to shut down his increasingly public war with the Chua Syndicate. Jackman refused, obviously. One week later, Jackman, half his gang, all dead.”

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  “Yeah.”

  Rocco watched the convoy from the window of the van, the last of the SUVs gliding down the asphalt like a silent predator.

  “Honestly,” he said, scratching his stubbled chin, “I’m starting to wonder if tailing Jiro is even necessary. With the kind of security he rolls with, and now Julius at his side? Not even Severino would be dumb enough to make a move.”

  Sarah didn’t turn her head. Her gaze stayed fixed on the taillights blinking in unison up ahead. “The De Vega family had serious security too,” she replied. “Didn’t stop Severino. He went through them like paper.”

  She let that sit for a second.

  “And Jiro’s not just any name on the list,” she added. “He’s one of the most likely target. History with Severino runs deep. Deeper than anyone on our sheet.”

  Rocco frowned. Not a dramatic frown, just a small downward curve of his lips, barely perceptible, but Sarah caught it. She’d learned over the years that when Rocco frowned like that, it meant his brain was chewing on something hard.

  Outside, Manila’s late-night arteries blurred by. Street lamps flashed overhead like the tick of a dying clock. In the distance, the city skyline simmered beneath light pollution, half-awake and buzzed with quiet menace.

  Eventually, the convoy veered into the familiar security choke of Rockwell. A modern fortress for those who could access it. They tailed them right up to the underground entrance of the tower Jiro called home.

  Sarah gave the orders smoothly over comms. “Team 1, confirm Jiro’s building. Keep eyes on all entrances. Tag everyone going in or out. We’ll regroup in an hour.”

  Then, turning to Rocco: “Let’s get something to eat.”

  * * * * *

  The mall was cooler than it should’ve been. Excessively air-conditioned, the kind of cold that made you forget you were in a tropical country. LED lights shone gently above as Sarah and Rocco made their way through the polished hallways, where international brands and overpriced local fare jostled for attention.

  They settled at a ramen bar, no frills, counter seating, with a pot of wooden chopsticks, a roll of paper napkins, and a water pitcher slick with condensation from the chill.

  The ramen came fast. Broth hot and shimmering. The kind of broth that had clearly been simmering for hours, rich with marrow and mystery. Steam rose from it like something sacred.

  Sarah watched as Rocco took his first sip.

  His eyes closed. His broad shoulders relaxed like a tension string being cut.

  “Liquid gold,” he whispered, reverent.

  Sarah allowed herself a small smirk as she cracked her egg open and stirred it into the bowl.

  Between slurps, Rocco said, “Hey, me and the others tailing the list, we’ve started placing bets. On who Severino hits next.”

  Sarah raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ve got five hundred riding on Jiro,” he added, then slurped a mouthful of noodles.

  Sarah leaned back, folded her arms. “You know gambling’s frowned upon in the force.”

  Rocco paled mid-bite. His chopsticks hovered in the air.

  “I mean, it’s not official, just friendly guessing,” he stammered. “Didn’t think…”

  Sarah interrupted by sliding a crisp 500-peso bill across the counter.

  “I think it’ll be Tatiana Tiamzon,” she said.

  Rocco blinked.

  “The mining heiress?” he asked.

  “She poisoned an entire barangay’s drinking water, and somehow made the charges vanish,” Sarah said, sipping her broth like it was wine. “She fits Severino’s profile too well.”

  Rocco grinned, relief washing over him. “Damn. I thought you were about to write me up.”

  “I still might,” Sarah said, not looking at him.

  Then the radio crackled.

  “Command, come in. This is Agent Cuenco. Julius Go has exited the building. He…he approached me directly and asked where our commanding officer is.”

  Sarah’s eyes flicked up. She and Rocco locked eyes.

  He was already shaking his head.

  “He what?” Rocco muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  The voice on the radio returned. “He asked politely. Said he ‘figured out what’s going on’ and would like to speak to the one in charge.”

  Sarah let out a breath. Thought for a beat.

  Then, calm as ever, she tapped her comm. “Copy that, Cuenco. Bring him to the mall. We’re at the ramen place on the second floor expansion wing.”

  Rocco sighed, shaking his head and hurriedly finished as much of his ramen as fast as he could.

  Agent Cuenco arrived looking mildly flustered, as if escorting a known Triad fixer through a mall was not part of his usual operating protocol. Julius Go followed half a step behind him, effortless in a sleek charcoal jacket and open collar, an attire that would blend effortlessly in a dozen countries. His smile was pleasant but far too familiar.

  Sarah didn’t rise. She merely gestured with two fingers. “Cuenco. Return to your post.”

  Cuenco hesitated, gave Julius a glance, the kind reserved for ticking bombs, then nodded and left without a word.

  Julius, unabashed, grabbed the only remaining chair and spun it around smoothly before plopping himself down betweenSarah and Rocco. His knee bumped Sarah’s. He did not apologize.

  “So,” he began, smoothing the sleeves of his jacket. “I hear you’re catching a serial killer. How’s the hunt going?”

  Rocco didn’t so much as blink. His face was granite. “It’s an ongoing investigation. We can’t divulge any information.”

  Julius raised his hands theatrically, like a magician surrendering a trick. “Fine, fine, fine. Spare the victims the details of their demise.”

  Sarah didn’t react. “What do you want, Mr. Go?”

  Julius leaned back, his fingers steepled as if he were at a boardroom table, not a noodle bar. “I just came to let you know,” he said smoothly, “that you’re wasting your time. I’m quite confident Jiro is not Severino’s next target.”

  Rocco’s brow twitched. Sarah didn’t move.

  “Oh?” she said. “Sounds like you know who the target is.”

  “I don’t,” Julius replied quickly, flashing that foxlike grin. “Not directly, anyway. I’m just a businessman with… business contacts. People who like to whisper things in my ear. Some useful. Some… poetic.”

  “If you have any real information on Severino,” Sarah said, voice firm, “I’d advice you to hand it over.”

  “I just did,” Julius said, waving his hand as if he were gifting them a favor. “Jiro’s not the target. That’s real enough. And if you were smart, you’d check in with your other teams. It’s possible Severino’s already lured the real mark into his little hunting ground.”

  That made Sarah blink. Rocco leaned slightly forward.

  “And why are you telling us this?” Rocco asked, voice low and even. “You just that much of a stand-up citizen?”

  Julius turned to him with mock offense. “No need to sound so skeptical. I’m simply looking out for my partner’s best interests. Ever since you started crawling up our asses with surveillance teams, business has been suffering. Just because you think he’s next on Severino’s hitlist.”

  He leaned in, just a touch.

  “So go on then,” he said, voice dropping a register. “Prove the worth of my tax pesos. Catch the damn killer. And stop stalking my business partner.”

  With that, he fished a sleek black calling card from his coat pocket, embossed, minimal, expensive, and laid it on the table beside Sarah’s bowl.

  “And if you ever suspect anything again,” he said with a wink, “just call. I’m not shy.”

  Then he stood up, smooth as silk, and walked away without looking back.

  Sarah and Rocco sat in silence, their eyes fixed on Julius’s retreating form as he disappeared into the well-dressed crowd beyond the ramen bar’s entrance.

  Neither moved until he turned a corner and was gone.

  Sarah’s eyes remained fixed on the empty corridor Julius had disappeared into. Then she turned, quiet but focused.

  “Check in on the other teams. Make sure they still have visual on their targets.”

  Rocco nodded, already pulling his phone from his cargo pocket, thick fingers moving faster than they had any right to. Even seated, he looked like he belonged in a warzone, not a restaurant.

  “You think Julius was being truthful?” he asked, eyes not leaving his screen.

  “No,” Sarah said flatly. “But I’m not ignoring a thread just because I don’t like the one who pulled it.”

  Her ramen had long gone cold. The surface shimmered with a soft film of congealed fat. Still, the broth held onto its richness. She took another long sip, not for warmth, but to think. Behind her eyes, calculations were clicking like teeth. Possibilities branching. Timelines narrowing.

  Rocco spoke again. “All teams checked in. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Tell them to check again,” she said without looking up. “Ask when they last saw their targets. Not just where they should be. We’re not guessing right now, Rocco, we’re confirming.”

  He nodded, voice suddenly more serious as he relayed the new orders over secure chat. Sarah’s mind was already elsewhere.

  The intel had been clear: Friday. Severino’s next target would surface on Friday. But this, Thursday night, was already cutting it close. If Julius was even half right, then Severino wasn’t waiting for Friday. He was hunting now.

  Which meant the trap was already laid.

  Rocco looked up. His expression said everything.

  “Most teams last had visual within the past half hour,” he reported. “Except…”

  He trailed off.

  Sarah turned her head slowly.

  “Tatiana Tiamzon,” he finished. “They say she’s been holed up in her house all day. No ins. No outs.”

  Sarah didn’t speak. She just stared at Rocco, and Rocco stared back. Neither had to say it aloud.

  She was the one who bet on Tatiana. The poisoned-town heiress. The environmental criminal who’d walked out clean and smiling.

  And her gut told her they were too late.

  Sarah dropped a wad of cash on the table, crisp bills still smelling of the ATM. Way more than needed. She stood, Rocco with her in the same breath, and they moved through the mall with urgent purpose. Neither ran. But their strides were long and fast and full of intent.

  Sarah pressed a finger to her collar mic. Her voice was quiet, but every word cut like a scalpel.

  “Team One, stay and keep eyes on Jiro. All other teams prep to move. New target is Tatiana Tiamzon. Rocco will send coordinates.”

  Rocco was already doing it.

  She continued, tone calm but edged with something colder. “I want two units en route. One in five minutes. The rest on rotation. Contain the perimeter.”

  She paused. Her voice dropped. She pulled out her phone and called the team leader monitoring Tatiana.

  “Get inside the house. Use any excuse. Power reading. Gas check. Something. Get inside now. Severino might have already made his move.”

  Rocco said nothing. But she could feel his thoughts next to her, heavy like thunderclouds.

  All this energy. All these resources spent tailing potential victims, watching from shadows, preparing for a strike that hadn’t yet come.

  But the truth was simpler. Colder.

  The hunter had moved before they noticed the silence.

  Now it was just a matter of whether they could still catch the prey before the jaws closed.

  Sarah clenched her fists as the escalator carried them down into the multi-level parking structure below.

  She just hoped it wasn’t already too late.