Dust drifted through the skeleton of the Qing white mansion as Leon walked through the collapsed front gate.
Rubble crunched under his boots and scattered across the cracked black tiled floor. Beams of steel jutted from the broken concrete like the ribs of a gutted beast.
A metal cracking sound echoed from the ceiling. Live wires extended, sparkling with electrical current. Iron-filled air flowed in and out of the chandelier as the blades of the fan, held by a thin wire, spun slowly.
Dark blue lights flickered fifteen meters away. Leon shifted his blackened gaze from the ceiling to the figure standing before a large portrait.
Andrew Storm's face flashed in Leon's mind. He saw the picture on the wall like a worshipped god who never received the chance to be worshipped.
