It was deep into the night, and the surroundings were utterly silent. In the corridor, the steady and light footsteps of Sylvan Cheney could be clearly heard.
He followed the elevator upwards, proceeded along the corridor, holding the hotel room key card in his hand.
The wide corridor was quite dim, the air filled with a fresh fragrance. Sylvan Cheney's eyes were like torches, the pupils contracting with a deep, sharp glow.
After about five or six minutes, he stopped in front of a room door.
Lifting a hand.
With a "beep," the door opened.
Someone inside let out a startled, frightened cry. Before they could react further, Sylvan Cheney was already inside, closing the door behind him.
There was only a dim yellow wall lamp on inside the room, and the light was not very clear.
