The sound waves hit Lu Chen’s tympanic membranes with the cold care of iron needles.
“Lu Chen... Lad... Why aren’t you on patrol...?”
The voice echoed from the central blossom.
It carried the exact raspy rhythm of Old Meng. The thick spit rattling in the throat, the stubborn gravel of a veteran watchman who had walked the cold alleys of Black Water County for three decades.
Lu Chen offered no reply.
He didn’t twitch a single facial muscle.
Behind his left shoulder, another white bud split open along the limestone wall.
Its petals peeled back with a wet, squelching sound, revealing a second set of human lips.
