In the middle of the courtyard, there was a small table with grinding stones and other tools on it.
Greg Jensen sat behind the table, earnestly sharpening an engraving knife.
The engraving knife was found in his high school pencil box, which everything else had been burned to ashes, but the knife alone was perfectly preserved.
After so many years, there were some rust marks on the blade, and the edge was no longer sharp; it needed re-edging.
Like he didn't see Brandon Brent, Greg continued to lower his head and sharpen the knife.
Seeing this, Brandon didn't even dare to breathe heavily; he stood there restrained, occasionally glancing at Greg out of the corner of his eye.
Silence fell in the courtyard again, with only the sound of the knife being sharpened, making one's scalp tingle.
Brandon felt a chill in his heart and several times couldn't help wanting to call out to Greg but ended up holding back each time.
"Let those people outside scram first," Greg suddenly spoke.
