Chapter 472 Meeting an Old Friend
"What the hell is Fiona up to?"
I muttered to myself in the silent hospital room, my hoarse voice bouncing off the white walls and mixing with the smell of disinfectant, only to be swallowed by the silence. When the night shift nurse came in to change the IV, I used the excuse of getting some air to escape the room.
I curled up on the steps of the emergency exit, my fingers trembling in the cold light of my phone as I opened Fiona's social media account. Her latest post was a selfie from a charity gala, holding a champagne glass with a bold smile, captioned "Hunting Season." The diamond earrings on her earlobes reflected a cold light, like a silent declaration of war.
The next morning, the asphalt outside the hospital was still damp with night dew. I stood in the shadows in my sneakers, watching Fiona's black Maybach roll over the fallen leaves and come to a slow stop. The window rolled down, her sunglasses covering most of her face, only the shadows around her eyes visible, her gaze slowly moving over me.
Fiona revealed half of her meticulously painted red lips, the edges sharp. "Get in."
The black file bag in the back seat was casually placed, the corners of the yellowed map frayed, with a few grains of sand caught in the creases. On the passenger seat, a directory of an international business association with a gold-embossed cover, the "International Business Alliance" logo gleaming with a cold metallic sheen in the morning light, a badge with intricate patterns clipped to the edge, the design as complex as some ancient code, each line seemingly hiding an unknown secret.
"Where are we going?"
I stared at the blurred coordinates on the map, my peripheral vision fixed on that badge.
As I opened the car door, the scent of perfume and roses wafted up, richer than the smell in the hospital room last night, almost suffocating. The grains of sand on the edge of the file bag dug into my thigh, and I instinctively shifted, catching a faint whiff of the sea from the yellowed map.
Fiona turned the steering wheel, her scarlet-manicured fingers leaving crescent-shaped indentations on the leather grip. The curve of her lips was like a crack in an abyss, her tone light as if discussing an afternoon tea invitation. "Taking you to meet an old friend."
But the glint in her eyes behind the sunglasses made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, a chill running up my spine.
The car drove onto a winding mountain road, the trees on either side growing denser, their branches intertwining to block out the sky, casting the road into alternating patches of light and shadow.
"What kind of old friend?"
My gaze involuntarily flicked to the directory again, the gold logo gleaming coldly, stinging my eyes. Fiona didn't answer immediately, her scarlet nails suddenly stopping their tapping, the car so quiet I could hear the tires crunching over gravel on the mountain road.
The GPS showed we were twenty miles out of the city, the blue light from the dashboard casting eerie shadows on her profile. Fiona suddenly spoke, "Last month, I attended a family meeting in Sunrise City and took the opportunity to visit some old acquaintances at Interpol. They've been keeping an eye on smuggling activities in the Southeast region."
Fiona's scarlet nails tapped the steering wheel again and again, each tap like the beat of fate's drum.
"Sometimes connections are more useful than weapons."
With that, Fiona tilted her head slightly, looking at me through the rearview mirror, the shadows around her eyes casting dark arcs, like a silent scrutiny. The badge on the passenger seat swayed slightly with the car's movement, as if witnessing this secret confrontation.
I instinctively shrank back into the seat, my lower back pressing against the file bag. Trembling, I reached in, my fingers just touching the edge of the map when Fiona's gaze in the rearview mirror suddenly turned tense.
"Don't touch that." Her voice grew colder, and the car sped up, the tires screeching around the bends.
I quickly withdrew my hand, but Fiona's barely perceptible tension gave me a strange sense of courage.
"The smuggling activities you mentioned, are they related to the person we're meeting?"
I realized my voice was trembling as I spoke.
Fiona's lips curved into a smile, her sunglasses sliding down her nose to reveal her deep, unreadable eyes. She stared at me through the rearview mirror, her eyes swirling with emotions I couldn't decipher, before letting out a soft laugh that echoed in the enclosed car, sending chills down my spine.
"You're smart. Smart people shouldn't ask too many questions. You'll get your answers when we meet."
The tires crunched over the last piece of gravel, and the engine fell silent.
Fiona reached for the glove compartment, the click of the lock loud in the quiet car.
I held my breath, watching her hand reach in, her fingers brushing against something before she twisted her wrist, revealing a small handgun in her palm. The metal gleamed coldly, reflecting the sunlight in tiny fragments.
The sea breeze blew in through the half-open window, lifting strands of her hair, which brushed against her cold profile but couldn't hide the sharpness in her eyes. She tucked the gun into her waistband under her black coat, the fabric falling back into place, leaving only a faint outline.
"Get out."
Fiona's voice was torn by the howling wind, but it still carried an undeniable authority.
I finally noticed that this sunlit open area was bordered by the road we came from on one side and a nearly vertical cliff on the other. The salty sea breeze carried fine spray, crashing against the cliff with a terrifying roar.
"We have to walk from here."
Fiona looked towards a narrow path that could only accommodate one person, her voice resolute.
I held onto the car door, looking at the dirt path, my throat tight. As soon as my shoe touched the gravel, the sound of waves crashing against the cliff roared behind me. Fiona turned back, her sunglasses slipping slightly, revealing impatient, cold eyes.
"What are you scared?"
With that, Fiona strode forward, not caring if I followed.
I forced myself to keep up, my peripheral vision fixed on the bottomless cliff to the right, the waves crashing against the rocks with thunderous force, sending up white spray several feet high. The gun at her waist swayed with her steps, the metal parts clinking softly, blending with the sound of the waves into an eerie rhythm.
"This path..."
I started to speak, but stumbled, nearly losing my footing, my cry of alarm swallowed by the wind.
Fiona turned, her sunglasses slipping another inch, her exposed eyes flashing with impatience.
"Focus on walking."
The further we went, the rougher the path became, some parts eroded by the sea until only a narrow strip remained. My back pressed against the damp cliff, cold sweat mingling with seawater on my spine, terrified of falling into the abyss yet unable to stop glancing at the rusted lighthouse in the distance.
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