The air in the hotel’s underground car park was cold.
It wasn’t the kind of cold brought about by low temperatures, but rather a damp, musty chill created by a mixture of concrete, motor oil and moisture. The fluorescent tubes overhead emitted a flickering light, casting rows of vehicles as if they were silent iron boxes parked quietly between shadows and patches of light. Footsteps echoed far across the empty car park; with every step, the sound seemed to bounce off the walls.
Led by a member of the hotel staff, Victor and Kane approached a black sedan.
'This is the one,' the staff member whispered, as if afraid of getting too close to the vehicle. ‘Mr Wyatt’s car is usually parked here.’
Kane walked around the car, his gaze sweeping from front to back; his expression betrayed little
