Kai walked back and forth in Noah's apartment, his fingers tapping nervously against his phone. The clock on the wall continued to tick away, each passing second ticking slower than it had any right to. Noah was late, hours late.
His calls had not been returned. His texts were still unread.
Something was amiss.
Kai tried again, calling Noah's typical sources—club owners and managers, security personnel, even a few of his clandestine acquaintances. Nothing. No one had any news of or contact with Noah.
His gut churned with anxiety.
Not another moment lost, he grabbed his jacket and bolted out. Bangkok streets were alive, with energy coursing through them, but Kai did not notice it. He saw only the openings, the holes where Noah might be gone. He scanned all the known locations—Noah's go-to bar, the underground fight rings, the backstreet poker halls.
Nothing.
Just as frustration threatened to consume him, a hooded figure stepped out from the crowd and blocked his path.
