Ademisor stood in the doorway and watched Charlemagne's movements, and the memories of the book told him that the hunt was fruitless and that Tris was not in his makeshift quarters.

But strangely, according to his inspiration feedback, Tris should be in the house.

He silently closed his eyes and kept meditating on the location of Tris in his heart, and the result was still the same.

The Witch Sect has two brushes, and after secretly sighing, Ademisor didn't try again.

After about five minutes, Kornley was the first to come out of the house with a dejected expression.

He looked at Ademisor: "Can you track it down again?" There is no trace of him here. ”

Ademisol comforted him in a gentle tone: "I tried, and that's where the feedback of inspiration points to." ”

"But there's no figure in there!" Kornley's voice raised slightly, and Charlemagne, who rushed over, hurriedly patted him on the back.

Cohenley, who reacted, restrained the anxiety on his face, and said in a hoarse voice: "I'm sorry, it's me who lost my temper." ”

Ademisore shook his head absently.

"Thank you for your help this time, I'm sorry to get you involved." Charlemagne struggled to hide his disappointment, barely squeezing out a smile.

"They're all teammates, so you don't have to be so outside." Ademisor maintained a machine-like composure, bowing his head politely.

"I'll leave it to us here." Charlemagne held out his hand and motioned for Ademisor to leave first.

This teammate is a bit interesting, his attitude obviously doesn't want to involve himself in this matter, is he afraid of sharing the credit?

The thought in his heart turned, and he politely shook hands and wished: "I hope you can have a harvest." He strode across the street to the public bus stop across the street with his top hat in hand.

Because he was suddenly dragged together to hunt down the "instigator" Tris, when Ademisore arrived in the warehouse area, it was already past seven o'clock in the evening, a little later than expected, but fortunately, the impact was not great.

At night, the warehouse area fell silent, except for a few half-hundred-year-old men who were in charge of keeping vigil dozing at the iron gates.

Ademisor easily bypassed the loose guards and quickly arrived at Warehouse 61.

Opening the door to the warehouse with the key he had obtained from Furman, he expertly threw a penny into the gas meter and unscrewed the gas lamp.

The dim light gradually brightened, reflecting the long shadow of Ademisor.

He didn't rush to search, he stood in the middle of the warehouse and closed his eyes for a moment to feel the inspiration, but there was still no feedback on the inspiration.

What am you missing? He thought to himself, pacing to the table where the coins of the Hermit Society of Destiny had been found.

Fingers tapped lightly on the tabletop, and Ademisore glanced around.

According to his and Fuhrman's previous speculations, the pile here is all stolen goods stolen by Max.

His gaze slowly shifted, eventually focusing on the tapping table, and he suddenly realized that his mind had fallen into a misunderstanding.

Was the box of Destiny Hermit coins found from this table really Max's?

Since all the "swag" is piled up here, it makes no sense that this table is not.

He and Fuhrman had subconsciously thought that the owner of this table was Max, but what if it wasn't?

Amber eyes deepened, and Ademisore took a few steps back, scrutinizing the desk.

Ordinary, this is his only impression, the materials are ordinary, the workmanship is ordinary, there is really nothing worth mentioning.

I opened the drawer where the gold coins had been found, and it was empty.

He quickly opened the other drawers, all but the bottom one was a rag covered in dark red stains, and the others were empty.

Ademisol pressed his index finger and thumb together as he picked up the smudged rag and placed it on the table, his eyes drawn to the edge of the rag.

There are two floral capital letters D.A.

What are the abbreviations for first and last names?

The thought quickly crossed Ademisor's mind, and he found a clean cloth bag and folded the rag and put it in.

Max doesn't match D.A. at the beginning of either his name or last name, so this table is really stolen, which means that the owner of the box of gold coins of the Hermit of Destiny is not Max.

So that's where the feeling of missing out on oneself comes from, because of making the wrong judgment?

In this way, everything is back to square one, and Lanerus may not know Max, and even if he can catch it, there is still no progress in the runaway case.

Ademisor couldn't help but feel a little discouraged when he thought about this.

After a moment, as if remembering something, he took the rag out of the bag again.

Generally, this kind of square scarf with initials printed on it is carried around, and no one will embroider the letters on a rag.

As he thought, he scraped a dark red stain from it, kneaded it, and put it under his nose to smell it.

It is the smell of wax.

Fire paint wax seal!

His pupils shrank, and he instantly remembered the postman he had met earlier.

He couldn't think of anyone else who would get a smudge on the wax seal of the fire paint because the postman often distributed letters.

Suddenly, a familiar feeling of drowsiness struck, and the picture appeared again in front of his eyes:

Still the perspective of an onlooker, in a dimly lit room, flickering candlelight.

Dauria, the postman he had seen earlier, was writing something on his desk, as if sensing an obscenity, when he suddenly put down his pen and looked up at Ademisor, who was watching, with his usual friendly smile.

Slowly, the corners of his mouth grew bigger and bigger, and his friendly smile gradually became cruel and cold-blooded.

His gray-black eyes were full of bloodlust and madness, reflecting red light slightly, and the corners of his mouth were grinning to the point of exaggeration, staring at Ademisor and indifferently said, "It's you." ”

As soon as the words fell, the picture in front of him shattered.

He... Can he see himself?

Although it was a warm summer night in July, Ademisor's cold hairs stood on end and cold sweat flowed.

With a click, the gas lights were suddenly turned off as the quota was exhausted, and the warehouse was plunged into total darkness.

Ademisor froze, only to feel that there was a great danger hidden in the darkness, as if Daouria in the picture had been lurking in the shadows, ready to strike a fatal blow at any time.

He subconsciously switched to the "machine" state, and the tension in his heart disappeared in an instant, and he felt it carefully for a moment, and the inspiration did not give dangerous feedback.

He exhaled deeply, relaxed a little, and only scared himself.

Is it because of the panic that Dauria can see himself?

Ademisor's heart suddenly tightened, telling himself to plan for the worst, Dauria really saw him, and even locked him at the moment, and he was in danger.

He had to hurry back to the Violet Club and tell the captain to ask for the protection of the church and the substitute punishment, and he made the most rational judgment in an instant in the "machine" state.

With the instructions in mind to return to the Violet Club, he quickly closed the warehouse door and stepped into the blood-red moonlight.