The rain whipped against the cold glass facade of New Babylon, like countless transparent whips, shattering the neon lights into pieces and turning them into blurry haloes.
Qi Yue stood in the center of the apartment, with a suspended holographic projector in front of him, his fingertips resting on the "play" button, and he had been in a stalemate for three minutes. The date on the projected label stung his eyes—Coin Lee's private records from the week before her death.
