Cecilion hadn't spoken a word during the entire questioning.
He sat unmoving on the couch, the folded photo of the CCTV image still resting on the table beside him. His face betrayed no reaction—no curiosity, no fear, no denial. Just… nothing.
The officers eventually exchanged a glance, clearly unsettled by his catatonic stillness. One cleared his throat awkwardly.
"We'll return when Mr. Zheng is feeling better," he said, with a tone that was more pity than suspicion. They left quietly, murmuring something to the staff as they exited through the grand gates.
Only once the gates clanged shut behind the patrol car did Zixuan exhale the breath she didn't realize she had been holding.
Her heart was pounding. Something was wrong—wrong in a way she couldn't define yet, but felt all the way to her bones.
