A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. She turned, expecting the crisp silhouette of a British colleague's tailored suit, but Daniel Leung stood in the doorway. Like her, an indigenous Hongkonger, he wore a modest button-up shirt and slacks, his crooked tie betraying his position in the Colonial Government's administrative backwaters.

  Daniel worked in the administrative depths, filing records and coordinating logistics—worlds apart from Maggie's politically charged operations. The sudden appearance of her old acquaintance struck a peculiar chord.

  “Maggie,” a tentative smile not quite reaching his eyes, “I heard about the assignment. Involving the Walled City. It sounds… complicated.”

  Practised neutrality masked her features as she studied him. Their shared history stretched back to their first days of civil service internships—both fresh-faced students in pressed uniforms—but time carved a deepening chasm between them. Diverging roles within the administration's rigid hierarchy and her increasing involvement in classified work drove them further apart with each passing year.

  “Complicated is one way to put it,” she replied in her cultivated British accent, each word precise as cut glass. She beckoned him inside. Looking down, he noticed the stack of manila folders on her desk, their government seals proclaiming official authority.

  Running his fingers through his jet-black hair, Daniel disturbed its neat combing. His lips pursed—an old tic that hinted at the gravity of his unspoken words.

  In the lengthening silence, Victoria Harbour's evening traffic drifted through the open window—a distant ensemble of engines and horns filling the space between his thoughts.

  “You know—” His Cantonese accented speech grew soft. “Sometimes I wonder if they give us these jobs—these impossible tasks—to keep us in line, to force us to choose a side.” He rocked between his feet, hands clasped before him.

  The years had left their mark on Daniel's face—crow's feet where youthful smiles once dimpled his cheeks, lines beside his mouth where earnest declarations of changing the system from within once flowed so freely during their intern days.

  Something vulnerable crept into his voice—the kind of doubt she buried deep within herself. He sought reassurance, solidarity, confirmation that they shared the same precarious ground between two worlds. But she couldn't afford that. Not now, not with this assignment.

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  “We all have our roles, Daniel,” her tone brooking no argument. “It's not about choosing sides. It's about doing the job we're given, no matter how challenging.”

  A nod. Still, his expression betrayed his discomfort. “I suppose. It's just… you're out there, tangling with things beyond our grasp—the triads, the refugees, the political prisoners. And I…” His shoulders slumped. “I drift between worlds, belonging nowhere.”

  Maggie's expression softened for a heartbeat. The words of her old colleague struck deep. The same conflict pulled at her—caught between her heritage and the colonial machine that employed her. A role that demanded impossible transformations: Chinese daughter, British civil servant, chameleon. The British officials flashed their patronizing smiles and spoke in their crisp accents, wielding her as their bridge to the local population. Yet their polite demeanour never masked the truth—she served as their instrument of control, nothing more.

  To people like Daniel, she represented something foreign—a symbol of authority, of a power structure that belonged to others. A power they both resented and relied upon.

  “We all are,” she said quietly, a note of sadness creeping in. “Caught between loyalties, I mean. But we have to make it work.”

  Daniel studied her face, gaze lingering on the slight crease between her brows—searching for traces of the eager intern he had once known. His chin dipped slightly, hand reaching to straighten his tie as if he had suddenly become aware of it. “I suppose you're right. Just… be careful, Maggie. People talk. And there are those who think you're too close to them.”

  She stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “Too close to whom, Daniel? The British? I execute my duties with precision. Nothing more.”

  “I know,” he blurted, raising his sweaty palms in surrender. “I didn't mean anything by it. I just… need you to understand that we still see you as one of us. Even with the distance. Even if you must speak their language and play their game.”

  Turning towards the window, she watched Hong Kong's lights shimmer in the gathering dark. The glass mirrored her rigid posture, the careful mask of composure she wore. “Thank you, Daniel.” The words hung between them, hollow as the space between tower blocks. “I appreciate it.”

  For a moment he lingered, unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. Finally, he turned and slipped away. The door closed with a soft click. Her chest tightened with each breath. Her position trapped her from both sides—an outsider to both the world she had come from and the one she had stepped into. The isolation constricted her lungs, a weight no one else could share.

  She opened Liu Wei's file again. The artist's face confronted her, eyes blazing with defiance beneath their haunted depths. Paper and ink filled her senses as she traced the photograph's edges. Sentiment and hesitation belonged elsewhere. Duty beckoned.