When Zhou Minhao arrived at Amon's door, his steps suddenly slowed.
The corridor lights were voice-activated. They had lit up for a while when he came upstairs, but now they had gone out again. Only the emergency light in the stairwell remained on, casting a sickly green glow that made the row of electric meter boxes on the wall look like a row of tombstones.
He sniffed and sensed something strange in the air—not the fishy stench left behind by a Dead Servant, but another smell, sharper and cleaner.
Hydrogen peroxide—he recognized the smell. The kind used for disinfection in hospitals. When concentrated, it stung the nose; when faint, it smelled like bleach. But this was a residential building. Who would pour hydrogen peroxide outside their own door?
He glanced down at the floor. The slimy trail left by the Dead Servant's crawling ended here—not because it had vanished, but because someone had wiped it away.
A mop or rag had been used to wipe along the base of the wall all the way to Amon's door. It was spotless, even the water stains nearly dry. The cleaning had been meticulous, nothing like someone hastily swiping at it in a panic.
If the Dead Servant's target had been He Xiaomeng, this door should have already been smashed open. A Snake-form Dead Servant was strong enough to rip the whole door panel out of its frame. It would not politely knock. He could not imagine an ordinary person having any chance of survival against something like that.
Suspicion rising, he lifted a hand and knocked on the door. His knuckles struck the panel, the sound echoing through the empty corridor.
"Who is it?"
The voice from inside carried mild annoyance at being disturbed, as though someone had been woken from a