The news of Lin's arrest hit the streets of Macau before the sun even came up.
The air in the penthouse was cold. It pressed against my skin. The room was dark. The only light came from the TV mounted on the wall. It threw blue and white across the ceiling in waves. Every flash made the furniture look sharp for half a second, then fall back into shadow.
It smelled like old coffee. The pot on the side table had been sitting for hours. The smell was burnt and sour. Under it was the faint sweetness of jasmine tea gone cold. The tea had a thin skin on top.
I was sitting in the leather chair. The leather was cool through my shirt. It made a soft sound when I shifted. _Creak_. My back was stiff. The armrest was smooth under my palm.
On the screen, Superintendent Cho didn't try to hide the raid. The footage was handheld. It shook. The camera operator was running. You could hear wind hitting the mic. You could hear boots hitting concrete in a steady rhythm. _Thud. Thud. Thud._
