"What can I say, bad luck works in mysterious ways," Liwu replied with ease as she brushed past him and entered Batian's hotel room.
Once again, the man was in tears, beyond inconsolable because there was no saving the dead cat. Linlin was patiently waiting to question him, but Liwu did not have similar patience.
She stepped in front of Batian, who was sitting on the bed. Then, she bent forward, leaning in to his face a little. Just a little--to make him uncomfortable.
Before she could start questioning him in her usual bad cop mode, a hand tugged around her waist, forcing her to stand upright.
"Your dress is ripped." Weijun whispered urgently, tying a coat around her waist with the subtlety of a man trying to patch a pothole in the road with biscuits. The gash was long, stretching from the hip to the area under the armpit.
