Ren Lei didn't like places where everyone pretended they weren't watching each other.
The private gallery sat three floors above street level, tucked behind a tea house that still smelled faintly of roasted leaves and old wood. From the outside, it looked quiet—almost dull. Inside, it was controlled chaos. Conversations overlapped in low tones. Glasses clinked softly. People drifted between pieces of modern art they didn't really care about, using the space for what it was meant for.
Contact.
Ren Lei stood near the far wall, hands relaxed at his sides, posture easy. Anyone looking at him would see a well-dressed man in his late twenties, nothing more. He didn't command attention. He didn't avoid it either.
That balance had taken time.
He watched the room the way he'd learned to—without lingering too long on any single person. Faces. Micro-reactions. Who spoke first. Who deferred. Who smiled too quickly.
Then he felt it.
Not danger.
Recognition.
Red hair crossed his peripheral vision, vivid without being loud. The woman moved with purpose, not urgency, weaving through the room as though she already knew where she was going. People adjusted around her unconsciously—half steps back, slight pauses.
Fiona Han.
She stopped near one of the sculptures, glancing at the placard with polite disinterest. Someone joined her, spoke briefly. She nodded once. The conversation ended.
Efficient.
Ren Lei didn't approach immediately. That would be a mistake. Fiona wasn't someone you surprised into conversation. You let her notice you first.
So he waited.
Three minutes later, her gaze flicked in his direction. Not lingering. Just enough to register.
Another minute passed.
She walked toward the refreshment table. Ren Lei moved at the same time, arriving a breath before her, selecting a glass of mineral water.
"Is it any good?" she asked casually, eyes still on the bottles.
"Unremarkable," he replied. "But it's cold."
She smiled faintly. Took one anyway. "That's usually enough."
They stood side by side without turning toward each other, sharing the quiet space like it had been arranged.
"You're new," Fiona said.
"Relatively."
"You didn't look lost," she added. "That's usually how I tell."
Ren Lei took a sip. "I don't like wasting energy pretending to belong somewhere I don't."
Her eyes shifted to him then, sharper now. Measuring.
"That's an interesting choice of words."
He shrugged. "Most people here are pretending. They just do it better."
A pause.
Then she laughed—not loud, not performative. Real.
"You're either confident," she said, "or very reckless."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"No," Fiona agreed. "But one tends to get people killed faster."
She turned fully toward him now, leaning lightly against the table. "Ren Lei, right?"
He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't introduce myself."
"You didn't need to." She took another sip of water. "Your name's been floating around."
"That's unfortunate."
"For you, maybe."
"For everyone else," he said calmly.
That earned him another look—longer this time.
"You're not what I expected," Fiona said.
"Neither are you."
"Oh?" Her tone sharpened slightly. "And what did you expect?"
"Someone louder," Ren Lei answered honestly. "More eager to be seen."
Her lips curved. "Being seen is easy. Being remembered is harder."
They stood in silence again, comfortable now. The noise of the room faded into something distant.
"You work with logistics," Fiona said eventually.
"Yes."
"That's vague."
"It's accurate."
She nodded. "You've been interfering with a few established channels. Not aggressively. Just enough to be irritating."
"I prefer to think of it as… rerouting inefficiencies."
"Mmh." She swirled the water in her glass. "Do you enjoy making enemies?"
"I don't enjoy it," he replied. "But I don't avoid it either."
Her gaze lingered, thoughtful now rather than sharp.
"Careful," she said. "People who don't avoid enemies often assume they're stronger than they are."
Ren Lei met her eyes. "People who warn others usually assume they're being underestimated."
A beat passed.
Then Fiona smiled again, slower this time. "You're interesting."
"That's dangerous," he said mildly.
"For you," she corrected.
She set her glass down. "Walk with me."
It wasn't a request.
They moved toward the balcony doors, stepping into the cooler night air. The city stretched below them, lights layered like circuitry.
"You're building something," Fiona said once they were alone. "I can tell."
"Everyone is," Ren Lei replied.
"Yes, but most people build upward," she said. "You're building inward."
He didn't respond.
"That kind of structure," she continued, "either collapses quietly… or becomes impossible to remove."
Ren Lei finally looked at her. "Which do you think it'll be?"
"I think," Fiona said, turning to face him, "that you don't know yet."
He smiled. Not defensive. Not proud. Just amused.
"You're probably right."
She studied him for another moment, then reached into her bag and pulled out a slim card. No title. No company name. Just a number.
"If you ever decide you want your interference to become intentional," she said, offering it to him, "call."
"And if I don't?"
"Then we'll keep circling the same rooms," Fiona replied. "Pretending we're not curious."
He took the card.
Their fingers brushed—brief, unremarkable, charged only because neither of them pulled away too quickly.
"Good night, Ren Lei."
"Good night," he said. "Fiona."
She paused at the door, glancing back once. "By the way—"
"Yes?"
"You should be careful who you inconvenience next."
"Why's that?"
"Because some people," she said evenly, "don't like being reminded they're replaceable."
Then she was gone.
Ren Lei remained on the balcony, the city humming below him.
A soft chime sounded in his mind.
[System Notification]Probability of long-term influence gained from this encounter: 68%Recommended action: Maintain distance. Observe.
Ren Lei exhaled slowly.
Distance, he could do.
Observation came naturally.
But as he slipped the card into his pocket, he allowed himself one small thought—
Some lines weren't meant to be crossed yet.
And some people were worth watching very closely.