The atmosphere of revelry surged in from all directions. Brian Sullivan pushed past a few drunken young people, slipped away, and turned into a corridor—only to come face to face with Eric Carter, who was walking out with a displeased look, clearly about to leave.

　　Bang!

　　The two collided head-on. Eric Carter, caught off guard, stumbled and his mood worsened:

　　“Are you blind or what, you—”

　　Brian Sullivan didn’t even look up, swaying as if he were drunk, barely managing to steady himself by grabbing Eric Carter's hand in a rush.

　　One side of Brian Sullivan's upper body was soaking wet, his lowered lashes casting a long, slender shadow. The chaotic nightclub lights played across his cheek, and for a split second, there was a breathtaking tension that crashed unexpectedly into Eric Carter's line of sight.

　　Eric Carter felt his heart skip a beat.

　　But it was just a fleeting moment. Brian Sullivan let go of his hand without a second thought and staggered past him.

　　Eric Carter couldn’t help but turn to follow: “You’re…”

　　Just then, the “host boy” chased after them recklessly. He barely had time to call out Brother Carter before he was struck dumb by the scene in front of him, as if hit by lightning: “Super—”

　　The quick-witted “hostess” lunged forward, clamping a hand over the boy’s mouth with such force she nearly choked her foolish colleague unconscious on the spot.

　　Eric Carter's eyes glazed over; he couldn’t see anyone else, nor hear any other sound.

　　He could only watch as Brian Sullivan pushed open the restroom door. Maybe he was dazed from the alcohol, but he turned back and gave Eric Carter a gentle smile, the corners of his lips—soaked in strong liquor—curving up.

　　Then he pushed the door open and went inside.

　　Host boy: “……”

　　Hostess: “……”

　　A thunderclap seemed to strike overhead, leaving the two agents frozen in place.

　　After a moment, the young boy’s hand trembled as he pinched himself hard.

　　If Eric Carter's heart had only skipped a beat before, now it was pounding wildly. He didn’t even have time to think before he sprang into action, chasing after Brian Sullivan into the restroom.

　　Brian Sullivan was splashing cold water on his face. The black marble sink made his fingers look shockingly pale, and the water-soaked side of his face seemed to glow with an indescribable aura, making it impossible to look away.

　　Eric Carter, on reflex, straightened his collar, grabbed a few tissues, and unconsciously adjusted his voice to be as gentle and magnetic as possible—even though he himself could hear the tremor of excitement in his tone:

　　“Hey… hi, did you come with friends? Want me to help you wipe off?”

　　Brian Sullivan was holding onto the sink, looking completely out of it.

　　Eric Carter stammered, “B-beautiful… beauty, can I add you on WeChat? My car’s parked right outside, how about I take you for a drive…”

　　With a splash, Brian Sullivan seemed to try to straighten up but lost his balance and started to fall, only to be caught by Eric Carter.

　　The scent of alcohol hit Eric Carter instantly, making him feel drunk himself. His breath quickened with excitement, and he heard the “beauty” press a hand to his shoulder, leaning in to whisper drunkenly in his ear:

　　“Where are you taking me, hmm?”

　　The restroom door opened, and both agents shuddered.

　　They saw Eric Carter diligently supporting Brian Sullivan as they walked out. The latter looked completely unconscious, totally out of it.

　　In an instant, both agents’ minds were struck by lightning. The young boy nearly tripped over his own feet, scrambling forward: “Oh, isn’t this our supervisor? Let me, let me—”

　　Eric Carter immediately snapped, “What are you doing? Get out of the way!”

　　“Brother Carter, Brother Carter, our supervisor can’t go out,” the hostess blurted, pretending to make a call, “I’ll get our boss to come apologize to you right now…”

　　Eric Carter barked, “I’ve been friends with your boss for years—who needs you meddling? Someone get her out of here!”

　　He shoved the female agent, and her phone clattered to the floor.

　　The commotion drew attention from nearby; several nightclub security guards looked over.

　　There was nothing the two agents could do in the chaos. They could only watch as Eric Carter supported the unconscious Inspector Sullivan, leading him through the dance floor and straight out the nightclub door.

　　The dance floor thumped with music, but in this corner, a dreadful silence hung in the air.

　　Both agents saw their own terrified faces reflected in each other’s trembling eyes. After a long moment, the young boy shakily pressed his earpiece, his voice on the verge of tears: “…Brooks, Leader Brooks, something’s wrong…”

　　In the command vehicle, the team snapped to attention. Jason Brooks said urgently, “Report the situation immediately! Where is the target now?!”

　　“Target, target,” the boy wailed, “—the target took the drunk inspector out to get a room!”

　　“Pfft!” Jason Brooks spat water all over the screen.

　　Everyone stared blankly at the distant nightclub, a deathly suffocation filling the entire van.

　　“Director Carter, Director Carter, why are you out so early?” Outside the club, by a black Bentayga, the driver hurried out to open the door. Seeing Eric Carter supporting someone dead drunk, he couldn’t help but glance twice, tactfully asking, “Are we heading straight to the deal location, or…?”

　　The driver was a trusted aide Eric Carter had brought to Shenhai specifically for this deal. He didn’t hide anything, helping Brian Sullivan into the car as he instructed, “Go straight to the deal location. The buyer’s meeting us at the hotel anyway. While we’re at it, book me a room.”