The hallway outside the interrogation room was brightly lit, yet the atmosphere was heavy.
Seven or eight people stood against the wall or sat on the benches, staring blankly ahead. No one spoke, and even the urge to smoke seemed to have been suppressed. Some looked down at their shoes, some stared at a stain on the floor and some crossed their arms, their faces clearly saying, 'Don't bother me.' Their weariness and restlessness were unlike the typical state of a detective after overtime; it was more as if they had just come through a botched operation, all holding their breath with nowhere to release it.
As soon as Victor approached, one of them looked up, glanced at him and stepped forward with a hostile expression.
'Lord Lucien is waiting for you inside.'
The man’s tone was neither
