He climbed the iron stairs two at a time, reaching the metal door on the first floor, thick and reinforced like it had seen more fists than hinges. Wil didn't knock politely; he banged on it with the flat of his palm, loud and deliberate, but didn't exactly use his strength.
It took a few seconds, then—
CLANK. THUNK.
The door swung open just a crack, then fully, revealing a massive man in a tight black T-shirt, arms like stone pillars, tattoos winding down both biceps. His head was shaved, jaw clenched, and a small earpiece was nestled behind his ear.
Wil didn't wait for pleasantries. He lifted his phone and displayed a clear image of Shang Zexi. "I'm looking for this man. He's here, right?"
The bouncer's eyebrows furrowed, caught off guard. He leaned in to look, eyes narrowing. "Who are you?" he asked, voice low, suspicious.
"Relax," Wil said calmly, pocketing the phone. "I'm not with the police. I just need to talk to him. That's all."
