In Abyanabad, an unremarkable antique store was situated in an old alley. The streetscape was run-down, a stark contrast to the surrounding high-rise buildings, making the alley seem like the city's ugly, forgotten band-aid.
The continuous rainfall had left a musty smell in the alley.
Two people stopped in front of the antique store. Walter Klein said, "Sixth Master, the person is inside."
Adrian Desmond, dressed in a suit and exuding an aristocratic air, looked out of place as he stepped in.
The store was small to begin with, and crammed with too many items, it felt even more constricted. Adrian, being tall, had to stoop to avoid hitting his head.
"He's upstairs," he was told.
"Stay at the door and don't let unrelated people in," Adrian instructed his bodyguards.
"Yes, sir!" they responded.
