Dylan Foster had no strength left, his voice was very low, almost like muttering. Gavin Carter’s way of speaking was always calm and measured. In the last moments before “midnight,” the two of them started talking, and it actually felt especially peaceful.

In comparison, things were much more intense on Zachary Brooks’s side.

The group of livestreaming “hikers” who had illegally entered the Chiyuan Grand Canyon were now on their way to a shelter. Jason Parker and the local sub-bureau’s Little Thompson were responsible for looking after them.

The driver drove steadily. Little Thompson, sitting in the passenger seat, was dozing off and hadn’t even opened his eyes when he answered the phone.

The injured were all asleep in the back of the van. Sister Jason Parker sat quietly beside them, knitting. Little Thompson rubbed his face hard, glanced sleepily at the caller ID, and answered, “Hello, Captain Bolton, I’m almost at the shelter with them, just about to…”

His colleague on the phone interrupted him: “Little Thompson, listen to me carefully.”

Little Thompson had only heard a couple of sentences before he jolted awake. At that moment, a car coming from the opposite direction passed by, its headlights sweeping over them. The young fieldwork intern, holding the phone, stiffly glanced at the rearview mirror.

In the harsh white headlights, he met a pair of eyes—the mustached team leader in the back had woken up at some point, his sharp black-and-white eyes staring right at him, while Jason Parker beside him was still calmly counting stitches on her knitting.

Cold sweat broke out on Little Thompson.

His colleague on the phone lowered their voice: “Keep driving, don’t give anything away. I’ve already notified the shelter, our people are waiting in ambush at the entrance. Don’t panic, whatever you do, don’t alert them.”

Little Thompson bit the tip of his tongue hard, trying to act normal. “Ah… okay, got it, Captain Bolton.”

But his voice was so tense that it cracked at the end.

Crap.

At that moment, Jason Parker looked up at him in confusion. “Little Thompson, do you have a cold?”

It was Little Thompson’s first time on the job, and his first mission had him stuck in a car with dangerous suspects. His calves were already cramping, and he forced a smile that looked worse than crying at Jason Parker.

“Aiyo, what did I tell you? The moment you got in the car, I told you to close the window, close the window, but you wouldn’t listen! Now you’ve caught a chill, haven’t you? You never listen to your elders, and now you’re paying for it!” Jason Parker scolded him. “Once we drop these people off, you go home and rest—how much farther is it?”

Little Thompson was stunned for a moment and snuck a glance at Jason Parker, seeing her lift her eyelids calmly and exchange a look with him.

She’s noticed something’s wrong!

“Ah, almost there!” Little Thompson cleared his throat, also speaking for Captain Bolton on the phone. “Just one more intersection, I can already see the building.”

There was no sign of anything unusual on Jason Parker’s face. She put away her knitting and nudged the “hikers” awake. “Wake up, we’re almost there.”

As she spoke, she fussed over them like a worried mother, pulling out a pack of wet wipes from her pocket and handing them out. “Wipe your faces, wake up a bit, don’t catch a cold from the wind.”

At 10:52, the car slowly passed the intersection and entered the shelter. Little Thompson stared anxiously at the plainclothes officers waiting at the entrance, his palms so sweaty he could barely hold his phone.

“Get out slowly,” Jason Parker was the first to stand up, grabbing the female streamer with the broken leg and helping her out first. “Let the more seriously injured go first. Little Thompson, give her a hand.”

Every muscle in Little Thompson’s body was taut, his jaw clenched tight. He took the female streamer and practically dragged her out.

“Hey!” The streamer with the broken leg stumbled as he pulled her. “Be gentle! What are you doing?”

“Easy,” Jason Parker’s gaze shot out meaningfully from behind her reading glasses at Little Thompson. “Don’t panic.”

Then she busied herself helping the others out of the car, intentionally or not, always blocking the mustached man.

Out of the corner of his eye, Little Thompson saw the plainclothes officers at the shelter start moving toward them.

Jason Parker pushed the last person out of the car, then seemed to just notice the mustached man. “Hey, there’s still one more, come on out.”

As she spoke, she was about to jump out of the car herself, as if to make room for the mustached man.

The field officers were already moving—

In a split second, the mustached man sensed something. His face twisted with ferocity. As Jason Parker was about to jump down, he grabbed the back of her neck, lifted the small, thin middle-aged woman right off the ground, dragged her back into the car, and locked his arm around her neck.

“Don’t come any closer!”

“Don’t move!”

Jason Parker’s reading glasses were knocked off, and she was forced to stand on tiptoe, head tilted back. The mustached man’s face was savage, and large ritual markings began to appear on his exposed neck and face. He hoisted Jason Parker up, using her to shield his own head and neck, leaving only one wild eye visible.

At 10:56, the standoff began.