His hair was soaked, outlining his sharp features more clearly.
Feston Kaida would never forget that smile he saw at that moment, just as Feng Zhannuo would never forget the sensation in his palm. Neither of them realized then how this coincidence would change the course of their futures.

The smile on Feng Zhannuo’s face deepened. “So, what now?”

A hand like an iron clamp gripped his wrist with precision. “I don’t negotiate with criminals.”

A punch flew toward Feston’s jaw. He leaned back quickly, using the momentum to break free from Feng’s grip. Footsteps echoed as he moved toward the southwest corner of the rooftop. Feston chased after him.
“No one can threaten me. I don’t care who you are.”

“So you’re not afraid of being exposed?” Feng Zhannuo kept count of the gunshots as he moved. The mission was complete—there was no need to stay any longer—but something told him this man was different from the usual cops.

Kaida… That name sounded familiar...

“I see you,” Feston said, aiming his gun through the metal frame around the water tank. He moved slowly toward Feng. “Hands up. Don’t make me shoot.”

The gun Feng had used to kill was still on the ground—no way he could reach it. He raised his hands and turned slowly. “Alright, you win,” he said with a careless smile.

Feston stepped closer, his right hand gripping the gun while the other reached for the cuffs at his waist. He usually didn’t have to be this cautious. Just then, a bolt of lightning split the sky with a deafening crack. Feng swept his leg out in a sharp arc—this time, Feston didn’t let go of his gun so easily.

They blocked, struck, countered—both men clearly trained and skilled. Their strength and speed were evenly matched. Though Feston had a gun, there was no space to use it up close. Feng wouldn’t let him escape his range. He wanted to keep him too busy to aim.

In such close quarters, the gun was more of a burden. Feston understood what he was trying to do. Feng threw a right hook, smiling. It was an even match. Then suddenly, Feston took a hit and staggered back.

He was creating space. Feng immediately sensed danger—and sure enough, Feston raised his gun as he stepped back.

A bullet grazed Feng’s arm, the searing heat shocking him. He frowned. “Impressive reflexes. Most people can't override them.”

Blood dripped from his right forearm.

“I take pride in compliments from criminals.”

The cold metal of the handcuffs clicked shut around his wrists. Feng glanced down, not resisting. The other end was secured to the iron railing of the rooftop. He smiled calmly.
“Until you have evidence, I’m not a criminal. Unless you saw me kill someone.”

He was probing. Feston hadn't actually seen him commit the murder, so he couldn't officially accuse him—not yet. But Feston was sure this man had killed Adam Williams.

“Don’t worry. I’ll know soon enough. For now, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder.”

He picked up the gun on the ground, glanced at the nearby body—blood washing away in the rain—and spoke into his radio.
“HQ, target is dead. I need a forensics team on-site in five minutes.”

“Five minutes? Boss, even God couldn’t pull that off!” came the shocked voice in his earpiece.

“There’s another homicide investigation a block away. They can drive over. Five minutes is enough,” Feston said firmly, his voice cutting through the downpour with undeniable authority.

Even the support dispatcher at HQ, stunned by his omniscience, had nothing to say. After exchanging a look with a teammate, he replied, “Yes, sir!”

If the body wasn’t processed soon, any remaining clues could be lost to the rain. Even though Feston suspected the body held little evidence, he still found a sheet of plastic to cover it. Rain drummed steadily on the flimsy white sheet.

“You planning to keep me company in the rain?” Feng leaned casually against the railing, as if admiring the view.

“Of course not. I’ll join you soon.” Feston walked over and began frisking him.

Feng smirked. “Should I accuse you of harassment?”

“Go ahead.” Feston didn’t believe Feng was just a hitman. Ordinary killers didn’t stay this calm when caught. After confirming the cuffs were secure, he thoroughly searched him.

He found only a small ring-shaped pick in Feng’s pocket—nothing else. “Don’t bother trying to escape. No one gets away from me,” he said, flipping the pick in his fingers before tossing it off the roof.

It wasn’t arrogance. He said it like a fact—and that made it more threatening. Feng watched the pick vanish from view.
“I knew you were different from the moment I saw your photo.”

“And you’re not an ordinary criminal.” The rain-darkened curls framed his piercing eyes, hawklike and locked on their prey.

“Thanks for the compliment.” They stared at each other in the rain, clothes soaked, wind whipping the hem of their jackets. Suddenly—click.

Feston tensed—but the punch, flung with the force of wind and water, landed before he could react. His vision blurred. When he blinked, Feng was already at the railing, waving.

The handcuffs were open.

Feston’s expression darkened. He reached for his pocket.
“You took my key.”

“Right when I suggested a deal,” Feng replied, seemingly unfazed by the gun pointed at him. “It’s been a pleasure, Agent Kaida.”

He leaned back over the railing.

“You’re on the 18th floor!” Feston shouted, rushing forward.

Feng fell backward, catching onto a backpack hanging just below the ledge. “Appreciate the concern,” he grinned. Of course he knew who they were and had prepared accordingly.

Midair, he yanked the strap—and a parachute burst out of the pack. He steered himself into the wind, drifting northward. Dangerous, given the storm—but safer than a straight fall.

他从空中对费斯顿笑了笑，那笑容迷人至极。费斯顿瞄准，手指扣在扳机上。云层开始散开，阳光穿透云层。最终，他没有开枪。

冯知道这不是仁慈。突如其来的光芒扰乱了费斯顿的瞄准。

他从背包侧袋里掏出一副墨镜，戴上，引导着自己下降。即使离得很远，他仍然能感受到费斯顿在屋顶上犀利的目光。

那深邃、锐利的目光——他不是一个普通人。

“鲍勃，给我留个房间，”冯对着空中的电话说道。楼下，躲避风暴的人们又回到了街上。他把背包扔进垃圾箱，融入了人群。

他的胳膊在流血。他得找个地方躲起来。路过一个热狗摊，他抓起一瓶番茄酱，挤到伤口上，然后四处涂抹。虽然很疼——但那味道却会留下永久的印象。

他嘟囔道：“最好让他们记住番茄酱，而不是我的脸。”

到达目的地后，他指着自己皮肤上的番茄酱，对前台笑了笑。“闻起来很香。”

他舔了舔手指。这动作本该粗鲁，但不知为何却又如此。或许是因为那是他吧。尽管头发湿漉漉的，乱糟糟的，他却依然散发着一种奇特的魅力。

致命的魅力。化身为人的死亡。
前台服务员——一位年纪稍长的男人，大家都叫他鲍勃——很清楚自己是谁。他把一把钥匙扔过柜台。“有什么需要，就喊一声。给。”

“谢谢。”冯接住电话，朝楼梯走去。308房间。楼梯比电梯安全。

鲍勃一边走一边环顾四周，等一切都恢复正常后，他才喊道：“你的胳膊怎么样了？”

“还活着。”冯头也不回地回答。对于一个刚刚杀了人又逃脱FBI追捕的人来说，他的语气太平静了。

他知道他们会派人来追他。想到这里，他脑海里只浮现出一张脸——费斯顿·凯达。
那双眼睛让人难以忘怀。而这一次，冯感到了……一种危险的预感。

杀手的本能非常敏锐。十五分钟后，鲍勃正盯着一队武装特工。他们身穿黑色背心，是FBI的标准装备。一名男子走上前，把一张纸摔在柜台上。

“这是搜查令。”