It was a winter night. The wind was so biting that it pierced his weary bones.

Archibald stood in the hallway, experiencing the kind of helplessness he had never felt in his entire life. Then, he heard a voice from behind.

“Are you Mr. Archibald?”

“Who goes there?”

He turned around abruptly and looked at the guy.

It turned out it was a delivery man. He was holding a wreath made of fresh flowers. Handing it to the old man gingerly, he said, “This is from Ms. Gwynn. She’s sorry for your loss!”

It was a wreath…

A storm brewed in the old man’s eyes.

Tossing the wreath onto the floor, Archibald lost his cool and stomped on it, crushing it beyond recognition. He knew, deep down, that it was a warning from Gwynn. If he continued to exert pressure on Noah, then she’d do something to Anderson again.

She was truly capable of destroying someone’s psyche, instead of killing him outright.

Saul rushed over, saw what happened and was shocked. “What happened here?”

Raising his head sli