After receiving the hotel address, Silas stood by the window for a moment, his eyes following the reflection of the mobile phone screen between his gloved fingers. The autumn sunlight filtering through the glass could not warm the chill lingering in the room. The apartment was too clean, too polished, and frozen like a frame in a picture.
The only sound was the hum of the air purifier in the corner of the room.
Silas's expression didn't change. With a slow, precise movement, he locked the screen, slipped the mobile phone into his overcoat pocket, and picked up his keys from the sanitised tray by the door.
Then he stepped out of his apartment.
In the past few days, he had been busy, managing the difficult patient while running a thorough investigation on that silver-haired young man, using Francis's family's connections to pull data that others couldn't even reach.
