The ground-floor hotel was packed with people, making this summer night feel especially stifling.
The trace of alcohol did nothing to make Chen Zhou feel tipsy. His gaze swept across every face—black, white, and brown—listening to their various accents, catching for any words he hoped to hear.
Yet Ambrose really felt like a place the world had forgotten—in all the noise and chatter, not a single sentence had anything to do with that name. Not even words like "missing" or "murder" came up.
After listening for a while and processing too much information in too short a time, Chen Zhou's thoughts grew muddled. He turned to look out the window for a temporary rest.
Despite the late hour, cars kept passing along the road with surprising frequency.
