Page 12 of Serpent King's Prisoner

“Alright,” he conceded. “Just...be safe, okay?”

“Always am.” A lie so polished it gleamed like the knife’s edge I was walking on.”How’s Hank doing?”

Hank–my dad’s longtime partner on the force–was the one who had taught me Mandarin, and who had gotten me this job. I knew he was proud of me…and just as worried as my dad.

“He’s good, Abby. Real proud of you, you know that?” His voice was gruff, the way it got when he was holding back.

“Tell him thanks for me. And everyone else?”

“Good, Sprout, they’re all good.” There was a pause, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless. He wasn’t telling me everything, but then again, we were always good at keeping our cards close to our chest.

He didn’t want to worry me about things happening back home when my job was already so stressful.

“Work’s going alright on your end?” he continued, steering the conversation towards the dangerous ground.

“Can’t complain.” The red light ahead turned , and I accelerated gently. “You can talk freely, Dad. My phone’s secure.”

“Maybe so,” he said, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “but what about your car? Ever think it might be wired?”

I couldn’t help but smirk at the thought. “Dad, if they went to the trouble to wire my beat-up Honda, then they’re more desperate than I thought.”

“Never hurts to be cautious, Abby.” He was serious now, and I knew he had a point. In this game, caution was the difference between being a player and becoming a pawn. “How is being undercover?”

“Work’s been, you know, the usual,” I said, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension that had taken up residence there. “Undercover isn’t exactly thrilling—mostly just pouring coffee and waiting for something to happen. And God, do I miss Boston.”

“I’m not surprised. California is beautiful, but your per diem can’t be covering much. Do you need money?”

I rolled my eyes, but smiled. “No. I don’t need money,” I said. “Thank you for the offer, though.”

“Well, let me know if you do need something.” His voice crackled through the speaker, tinged with worry. “And how are things with Matthews? You two managing to get along?”

“Tyler?” I let out a laugh, hollow and short. “Yeah, we’re…we’ve got a good synergy going.” My grip tightened on the steering wheel, betraying the lie. Tyler was a thorn in my side, but admitting it would only worry Dad more.

“Right–synergy.“ He let out a knowing laugh, one that spoke volumes. “If he’s giving you trouble, I could make a call, see about getting him replaced.”

I shook my head, though he couldn’t see. “No, I need to handle this myself. It’s part of the job, right? Dealing with all sorts of people. And he’s not that bad. Just a little annoying.”

“Alright, Sprout.” He sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken concern. “Just remember you don’t have to do everything alone. I will help you. You just…you take care of yourself, okay?”

“Got it, Dad. Trust me.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust, Abigail,” he said. “I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, Dad.” I ended the call and eased my foot onto the gas. The city swallowed me whole once again, the brief connection to my old life fading into the rearview mirror as I plunged back into the night.

Unbeknownst to me, it would be weeks before I heard his voice again. The game was changing, whether I was ready for it or not.

And all my training–every single moment of it–it could have never prepared me for what happened next.

Chapter Seven: Nathan

Hell was coming back to Chinatown.

The sun hadn’t yet climbed high enough to chase away the chill of the San Francisco morning as I made my way through Chinatown. Its rays barely skimmed over the tops of tightly packed buildings, casting long shadows on the street where the city woke to the scent of fresh dumplings and the quiet hum of early commerce.

I had business to attend to—family business—and this part of town, with its vibrant markets and hidden alleys, knew the tread of my boots well.

I stopped first at a restaurant that had been under our protection for years. The red and gold sign swayed gently above the door, welcoming me in. Inside, the air was warm, thick with the aroma of spices and soy sauce. Patrons huddled over steaming bowls, their conversations a low murmur against the clinking of porcelain.

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