Feng Zhannuo didn’t move. He kept perfectly still, his breath steady. From dozens of feet away, behind the curtains, those eyes no longer watched him. They’d turned to the blond kid instead.

Feston Kaida might be more dangerous than he’d anticipated. Feng couldn’t tell if the encounter was pure coincidence or if Feston had really spotted him. Maybe he should’ve listened to his gut—he never should’ve come here.

Hesitation during a hit is a killer’s taboo. And this moment of doubt rang every internal alarm.

Inside, Will was kneeling on the sofa, breath ragged from craving relief he wasn’t getting. Feston pulled his gaze away from the window and leaned in to kiss Will’s upturned forehead. “Turn around, Will.”

Will, barely in his twenties, was no match for Feston in physique or experience. He naturally leaned into the man’s dominance, his admiration tinged with dependency. Though the position wasn’t as comfortable, he obeyed, turning over—only to notice something different in Feston’s demeanor.

Feston wasn’t rushing anymore. Instead, he stared into Will’s eyes. Green, not blue.

Feston thought of those ghostlike eyes on the rooftop—blue as the sky and just as cold. Death shimmered within them.

The heat between them intensified. Will noticed Feston’s newfound urgency. “Did something good happen today? You’re even more worked up than usual…”

The way Feston touched him—so deliberate, so drawn-out—felt different. Will shivered in anticipation. “Come on already.”

He was flushed and trembling, wrapping himself around Feston, but the man didn’t look at him. His eyes were fixed on the window, staring past the curtain, through it—right at their invisible observer.

Through the scope, Feng Zhannuo’s gaze locked with Feston’s. Again.

He’d been spotted. No question.

The rules were clear: If you miss the shot, pull out immediately. But Feng didn’t retreat. He didn’t lower the rifle. He watched Feston Kaida like he was just here to enjoy the show.

Half-lidded, Feston kept his focus outside while his hands tormented Will, teasing him past reason, denying satisfaction. To any voyeur, the scene was hot enough to scorch the soul.

Sweat-drenched and whimpering, Will pleaded, “Please… don’t tease me anymore… Fest… for God’s sake, come on…”

Feng recognized the provocation. It was a message. Feston knew he was watching.

The man inside kept his eyes trained outward. Will, pushed past his limits, shoved Feston down, straddling him, desperate to take control.

Feng’s finger twitched.

The bullet tore through the air, shattered the floor-to-ceiling window, and set off every car alarm nearby. Will collapsed onto the sofa, shards of glass raining down onto the carpet. One piece grazed Feston’s ear.

“Someone’s trying to kill you?!”

Naked, Will bolted upright and yanked Feston toward the inner room, but Feston—equally unclothed—grabbed his pants instead. He dug a bullet out of the couch armrest.

“Feston?!” Will couldn’t read his expression. Feston had always been quiet—even in bed. The only time he truly lit up was during a case.

Just like now.

“Go back,” he said while getting dressed. It wasn’t a request.

“You want me to leave—when someone’s trying to kill you?!”

“That’s exactly why you need to go. Be good.” He planted a perfunctory kiss on Will’s forehead.

The message was clear: You’re useless to me here.

Will, deflated, sank onto the couch, then nervously peeked outside. “Where are you going? Should I wait here?”

“You want to be taken as a hostage? No? Then leave. Now.”

Feston was already gone.

After the shot, Feng started the engine and followed traffic off the lawn, but Feston quickly locked onto his vehicle. The black Audi tailed him through the twilight streets, always close but never quite catching up.

Feng cursed under his breath. Normally, he kept his cool. Not today.

The streets were still busy post-rush hour. Feng had to turn down unfamiliar back roads, playing an impromptu game of cat-and-mouse.

Then the Audi surged forward, nearly pulling up alongside him. Feng glanced sideways—Feston Kaida.

“Pull over!” Feston shouted, one hand on the wheel, the other pointing a gun.

The sniper rifle was under Feng’s seat. He knew if he stopped, Feston would search the car. He wasn’t stupid.

“Well, if it isn’t Chief Kaida. What a surprise. Fancy meeting again.”

“Pull over or I shoot! This time you walked right into my trap, Ghost!”

The Audi swerved toward him. Feston’s tone was lethal. His eyes—like a predator’s. Like a hawk. Like a hyena.

Feng had been marked.

“So what if you catch me?” Feng laughed bitterly. “You’ve got no proof. What are you gonna do? Detain me? Then let me go? Is that what satisfies the great Feston Kaida?”

Their cars scraped, metal grinding and sparking. Feston raised his gun. A shot rang out.

The bullet grazed Feng’s forehead.

“I’m not joking.”

That glacier-blue gaze froze over. No one had ever dared threaten him like this. Feng drew his own gun.

“Neither am I.”

Feston rammed him into the guardrail. Feng’s shot missed, cracking the windshield instead.

They’d made it onto the highway somehow. Feng’s precision had earned him the nickname Reaper—he never missed, unless maybe…

Unless his opponent was Feston Kaida.

He could calculate angles, bullet velocity, even from a glance. Feng steadied the car. This wasn’t the time for talk. He had to think.

Dusk settled in, and the Ghost had a shadow on his tail. Feston’s Audi never let up, mirroring his every move. Each time Feng tried to shake him, he failed.

Then—bang, bang!

His tires blew. The car swerved, shrieking against the white rail. A terrified cat darted from the bushes. The stench of burning rubber filled the air. The car came to a stop.

He kicked the door open.

The Audi halted ahead. Feston got out, gun in hand.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Ghost.”

Feston saw through every disguise. His words hit like bullets. Feng smirked darkly, adjusting the angle of his weapon.

“Who said I was?”

He fired—not at Feston, but at the gas tank.

Gasoline sprayed everywhere, dripping like a leaky pipe. Feston realized too late—Feng was about to destroy the car.

He tossed his lighter.

The explosion lit up the sky.

Prepared for the blast, the Ghost rolled away in a practiced tumble. Feston dove in the opposite direction. He thought for sure the Ghost had escaped again.

But when he stood up—he hadn’t.

The Ghost was still there, lying face-down on the pavement. Blood trickled from his temple, blurring his vision. He saw a pair of polished shoes. Feston’s, no doubt—he had surprisingly good taste for an agent.

From somewhere far above, Feston’s voice dropped like a verdict.

“Are you really a killer, Ghost?”

There was doubt in his voice, as solid as granite.

He was laughing at him.

It was Feng’s final thought before he lost consciousness. He’d never expected this to be the reason he’d fall into FBI custody.

Feston knelt and pulled something from Feng’s chest—a small, trembling body.

A stray cat.

Amber eyes wide with terror.

He’d saved it during the explosion.

The bloodstained Ghost, death incarnate—had saved a cat.