Clara Sanders pinched her nose, forcing down the nauseating feeling, slumping onto the ground.
Hatred was all that filled her eyes...
Never before had she been reduced to such a pitiful state, like a street rat chased by the crowd.
"Alright, the reporters couldn't find anyone, they must have already left. We've narrowly escaped..." The manager's voice had just died away when a pair of shining leather shoes suddenly appeared before them.
A mysterious figure calmly approached them. His eyes resembled those of a hawk, scanning Clara Sanders, who seemed as insignificant as an ant, a cold smirk on his lips.
The moderate cold laughter, in a quiet environment, terrified like a phantom.
Clara's nerves tensed, "Who are you?"
She raised her head nervously, looking at the man standing in front of her.
Black, in the dark of the night, a color that should be indistinguishable.
But on this man, there seemed to be a sense of blending into the night, emanating a trace of evil in the dark.