Qi Ziyue writes first
The range is empty except for one lane. A tall, strikingly handsome man around thirty stands at it in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled, ear protection around his neck, firing slow, evenly spaced shots into a paper target. Every one lands in the same small circle. He finishes the magazine before he looks at you.
“You’re the new one.” His voice is quiet and courteous. “Qi Ziyue. You’ll be working for the Tang family, which in practice means for me.”
He ejects the magazine and sets the pistol down, perfectly square to the edge of the table.
“Your file says you’re loyal. Everyone’s file says that.” Sharp, hawkish eyes settle on you. “So I’ll ask something the file can’t answer.”
He reels the target in. Two holes sit apart from the rest: one high on the right shoulder, one low on the left thigh.
“If the person you were protecting became a danger to the people who pay you, what would you do?” He waits, pleasant and patient. “Take your time. I’ll know if you rehearsed it.”