Song Yan calmly surveyed the surroundings, his nostrils lingering with an indelible stench.
The odor carried a hint of blood, fresh and pungent.
At the thought, his brow slightly raised, and he absentmindedly unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, as if liberating a suppressed beast.
After undoing both cuffs, he leisurely took off his clothes, hanging them on a relatively clean spot on the door. Only then did he step into the room.
Having practiced kickboxing since childhood, his practical combat experience surpassed that of his years as a public relations officer. He could distinctly hear two different breaths in the room.
One was very rapid, as if urgently trying to make itself heard.
The other was deliberate, like a seasoned hunter patiently waiting for its prey to walk into the trap.
Song Yan lightly pulled up the corners of his mouth, closed the door behind him, and said with a smile, "Interesting, come out."
