"Not bad with a gun,"
a cool voice came from the direction of the window.
At the sound, Mo Shangjun quickly glanced that way.
The person who had climbed in through the window earlier was now half-crouched on the window sill, holding a blood-stained fruit knife. The blade swayed in the air with her movements, with fresh blood dripping down. Her narrow eyes were mockingly watching this side.
As for the man who had just had his throat pierced by a knife, he had been thrown to the ground, his eyes wide open in death, his expression hideous.
Because the scene was so discordant, Mo Shangjun couldn't help but take a few extra glances.
