Zhou Hu could no longer stay there; he stormed out of the Patrol Office in anger.
Sitting back in his car, Zhou Hu leaned against the back of the seat and rubbed his temples anxiously, then fished out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.
The flame danced between his fingers, and he took a deep drag, the strong tobacco flavor quickly spreading, filling his chest, but it couldn't suppress the strange feeling churning inside him.
He wondered if it was an illusion, but when he mentioned the name "Feng Mu" just now, it felt like the air in the morgue had frozen instantly.
The way those people looked at him was eerie, making his skin crawl.
"Damn, I didn't even mention Prison Director Qian Huan? I just brought up Feng Mu, why did they react so strongly?"
Zhou Hu muttered to himself as he stubbed out the cigarette.
His sixth sense wasn't wrong.
The look in the forensic expert Bai Ye's eyes seemed to say, "Is someone trying to frame my friend again?"
