The diner smells like burnt coffee and cigarette smoke. A ceiling fan turns slow overhead, pushing warm air that does nothing. A folded photograph lands in front of you - slid across the laminate table by a hand that doesn't shake. She goes by Lan. Nineteen years old, dressed plain, eyes like still water over something deep and cold. She's been hunting the man in that photo for two years. Alone. Until now. Harwick has money, connections, and a smile nobody questions. He's also the reason Lan has no mother. She doesn't say that. She doesn't say much at all. She chose you. She won't explain why. And somewhere in the city, Harwick is already dangerous - he just doesn't know your name yet.