In mid-September, Britain's rainy season seemed to arrive a little early once more. A light, scattered drizzle began to fall on the streets of London, which were already shrouded in a chilly mist. Pedestrians holding umbrellas hurried along, their reluctance to linger on the streets appearing to be a shared, unspoken agreement among them.
Ever since thick fogs had begun blanketing various parts of Britain in July, everyone had a distinct feeling that something was deeply wrong. Particularly after enduring two months of an unusually high frequency of bizarre incidents, the dark cloud looming over people's hearts had never dispersed.
Among the bustling crowd of hurried pedestrians, a middle-aged man holding an umbrella and carrying a briefcase came to a halt. Tucking the briefcase from his left hand under his right shoulder, he reached into his suit pocket to pull out a slip of paper. After carefully reading the name written on it, he raised his head to look around the surroundings, as if searching for something. Soon, his eyes brightened. Tucking the paper back into his pocket, he strode forward with his briefcase and quickly turned into a coffee shop located two doors down.
Chapter 1098