My parents... were they killed by the Aquarius Director?
Upon hearing Leon's words, the female journalist's body involuntarily trembled, and her once steadfast soul was disturbed by the possibility, becoming unstable.
Indeed, that was the right question to ask.
Glancing at the female journalist's slightly shaken soul, Leon couldn't help but blink, then took out a charcoal pencil and began scribbling on her file.
Time passed slowly. After throwing out a fatal question, Leon didn't continue speaking. The entire room was eerily silent, except for the rustling sound of the charcoal pencil on paper and the faint breathing of the female journalist.
Inhale... Exhale...
Rustle... Rustle...
Inhale... Exhale...
Rustle... Rustle...
Unconsciously, the rhythm of Leon's pencil and the female journalist's breathing began to strangely align. Initially, the pencil's sound chased her breath, then gradually, the two started to synchronize.
