The night air along the Bund carried a chill that cut clean through the neon glow of Shanghai’s skyline. The river shimmered below, reflecting a city that never truly slept—only shifted gears.
Inside the historic Long Bar at the Waldorf Astoria Shanghai, the mood was warmer, richer. Dark wood, polished brass, and a lineage of secrets soaked into every inch of the place. Once the epicenter of Shanghai’s colonial elite, it now played host to a different kind of power. Judd leaned against the bar as Brock raised his glass with a grin.
“Now this,” Brock said, admiring the drink, “is globalization done right.”
The Twins
The bartender slid over the Colonel Sanders Margarita—a strange but surprisingly perfect blend: bacon-infused tequila, pineapple-lemongrass purée, triple sec, lime, and bitters. A nod to the building’s unexpected past as the site of Shanghai’s first KFC in the 1990s. Brock took a sip and let out a satisfied breath. “Tastes like Kentucky got lost in Southeast Asia and decided to stay.”
Judd smirked. “Enjoy it. We’ve got work.”
Brock set the glass down. “Yeah. Time to meet the ghosts.”
Minutes later, they stepped out into the Shanghai night. Brock’s security detail moved with quiet efficiency, guiding them into a sleek, black electric SUV that hummed rather than roared as it pulled away from the curb. The city blurred past—glass towers, neon signs, scooters weaving through traffic like schools of fish. They arrived at the St. Regis Shanghai, slipping through the lobby unnoticed. No hesitation. No wasted motion. Upstairs, the bar was dimly lit—the kind of place designed for conversations that never made it into records. She was waiting.
Alexina Bee sat alone at a corner table, a glass of white wine untouched in front of her. Red hair, sharp features, posture relaxed but deliberate. She looked up as they approached, her smile warm—disarming, even. But her eyes gave her away. They calculated.
“Brock,” she said, standing. “You’re late.”
“Blame him,” Brock said, jerking a thumb toward Judd. “He made me finish my drink.”
Alexina’s gaze shifted to Judd, assessing him in a heartbeat.
“Judd Knight,” she said. “I’ve heard… enough.”
“Likewise,” Judd replied evenly.
“Shall we?” she said, already turning.
They moved deeper into the bar. And there they were. The Twins.
Seated on a low, luxurious sofa that looked more suited to a private club than a public bar, the two women raised their hands in greeting—almost playfully. They were small. Both of them. But there was nothing small about their presence. The first looked directly at Judd.
Large, perfectly round glasses framed her face—thick black rims that carried the unmistakable authority of a fashion editor. Her blonde, straw-colored hair fell neatly to her shoulders, precise, controlled. Petite in frame—but she held herself like someone who trained hard and expected the world to keep up. In her hand: a tall, perfectly poured Guinness.
“Valencia Kubiziński. Nice of you to finally arrive,” she said, her eyes locking onto Judd. “Not like we’ve been waiting long… but then again, you’ve never been particularly predictable.”
Her voice carried a rich, unmistakable Irish accent—a deliberate contradiction.
Judd allowed himself the faintest smile.
“I’ll try to do better next time.”
Valencia tilted her head, studying him.
“You won’t,” she said, almost kindly.
Then—
“But that’s why you’re useful.”
The second woman stepped forward.
"Amira” she said. No last name. Like Sheba—queen of somewhere far more mysterious than history ever managed to explain.
Dark hair. Olive skin. A smile so bright it almost felt engineered. Where Valencia was precision, Amira was gravity—the kind of presence that bent rooms without effort.
She extended her hand.
“Welcome,” she said smoothly. “We’ve been looking forward to this.”
Judd shook her hand. Light grip. Controlled. Her eyes flicked briefly to Brock.
“And you,” she added, “are exactly as described.”
Brock raised an eyebrow. “That good or bad?”
Amira smiled.
“That depends entirely on whether you follow instructions.”
A beat. Brock chuckled—but just a fraction too late.
“Drinks,” Amira said, turning. “Let’s make this interesting.”
Glasses appeared. No one saw who ordered them. Valencia lifted her Guinness, idly swirling it.
“Before we begin,” Amira said softly, “a small diversion.”
She clapped once. A man appeared at their side. No one saw him approach. The magician.
Cards danced between his fingers—fluid, controlled, practiced beyond performance.
“Pick a card,” he said.
Valencia didn’t hesitate. She selected one, glanced at it briefly—the Three of Diamonds—then, with a movement so subtle it escaped notice, produced a pen. She wrote something quickly across its face. Folded it once. And, just as casually— dropped it into her Guinness. The dark liquid swallowed it whole. The magician never reacted. He turned instead to Alexina.
“You,” he said. “May I borrow your attention?”
Alexina raised an eyebrow but obliged.
“Reach into your pocket,” the magician said.
A pause. Even Valencia stilled. Alexina slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket. Her expression didn’t change. But her fingers slowed as she pulled something out. A card, folded once. She opened it.
The Three of Diamonds.
And scrawled across it in bold ink:
LAZARUS
Silence. Brock leaned forward. “Alright… that’s not normal.”
Judd didn’t move. He looked at Valencia. Her Guinness sat untouched. Dark. Opaque. The magician stepped back. No bow.No flourish. He simply… disappeared into the room. Amira leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering.
“You think you’re here to learn about Sebastian Wolf,” she said.
Judd held her gaze.
“You’re not.”
A beat.
“You’re here because you’re already behind.”
Valencia set her glass down gently.
“By the time you arrived in Shanghai,” she said casually,
“Lazarus moved to Phase Two.”
Brock’s posture shifted. “Phase Two of what?”
Valencia didn’t look at him.
Her eyes stayed locked on Judd.
“That’s the question you should have asked three days ago.”
Amira leaned back, her smile returning.
“The magician,” she said softly,
“wasn’t here to entertain you.”
A pause.
“He was here to show you something.”
Judd’s voice was quiet. “Which is?”
Amira tilted her head.
“That you’re looking at the trick…”
Her eyes flicked briefly to the Guinness.
“…and all the wrong places