"What's going on?"
The voice on the other end of the earpiece paused for a moment and asked in confusion.
Ghost Scythe pressed against the shadowy depths of the fifth-floor corridor, lightly pressing his finger against the earpiece.
His gaze was fixed through the broken window frame, staring intently at the scene below.
The young man was sitting in the driver's seat, seemingly searching for something, moving hurriedly, not starting the vehicle immediately.
"The target looks significantly different from the description in the dossier."
Ghost Scythe paused, his voice lowered to a whisper, revealing an unmistakable confusion:
"The dossier describes a stocky, tough-looking young man, but the person I just saw has skin as pale as a freshly shelled egg, wire-rimmed glasses on his nose, so refined it's absurd, looking more like a pretty boy than a TV idol."
"The most critical thing is, he might be with the Special Search Team."
"Special Search Team?"
