The old bookstore had an oil lamp lit.
Jeming sat in a rocking chair, holding a newspaper.
He sat exactly the same as usual: slightly reclining, feet crossed, the newspaper covering most of his face.
Upon hearing the door, he put down the newspaper, revealing his ordinary, unremarkable face that looked under thirty.
His gaze swept from Harding to Deke, then back to Harding, without any excess expression.
"Feel free to look around," he said, his voice neither warm nor cold.
No surprise, no tension, no curiosity.
It was like seeing two ordinary customers walk in.
However, this attitude only convinced Harding of his inner suspicion.
After all, they came in uniform, and the other party showed hardly any reaction, indicating they had been expected.
Harding didn't browse the shelves.
He walked over to the rocking chair and sat on the stool opposite Jeming.
Deke stood by the door, his hands hanging at his sides, relaxed but never taking his eyes off Jeming's hands.
