Dockside.
The morning fog was thick.
The people who had escaped from the warehouse were lying exhausted inside a vacant apartment building, quietly waiting for the arrival of the rescue boat.
Matthew stepped out of the apartment building, wiped the damp steps, and sat down with a plonk next to Bi Fang, seeing him still fiddling with the drone, he asked curiously, "So, can you see anything clearly?"
Bi Fang hung his hands low, sighed, and handed over the drone: "No use, it's too dark, plus the glare from the flames. Can only see half a face no matter how I adjust it."
Matthew took the drone and, even after adjusting it numerous times, still felt disappointment knowing the situation; he squinted at the screen but could discern nothing.
The firelight cast on the sharp contours of the man's face, where sensitivity and sharpness interwove, the bridge of his high nose casting a shadow while one of his eyes was veiled in darkness, the other cold and expressionless.
