Wenzhi stared down into the dug-out pit in one of the ruined parts of Yanjing city.
The corpse lying there bore the undeniable features of Shao Jingxin. The same sharp jawline, the same clothing, the same bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
The midnight air was cold.
Far above them, the dark silhouettes of airships cut through the low clouds, their navigation lights blinking rhythmically.
The distant, muted hum of traffic drifted from the central surviving district of Yanjing, echoing off the surrounding expanse of cracked concrete and dead earth.
"When are you going to tell me who he actually is?" Wenzhi didn't break his stare from the ditch. The cherry lollipop shifted against his cheek.
Across the hole, Xinyuan leaned his weight against the handle of a shovel, his eyes dark under the moonlight. "If you're worried about him slipping through our fingers, don't be. I planted a tracking tag on him."
