"Alright, alright, stop bickering as soon as you come in and listen to me quietly." Slowly standing up from his seat, Bennett's gaze swept over the people entering, noticing there was one more than he had expected. But Bennett didn't point it out immediately; his eyes landed on Harvey. "This time it's a real mission. The documents will be delivered shortly. But before we start the investigation, answer me this: why are you an hour later than I expected?"

"It's all because of that damn director!" Harvey sighed helplessly. There was no need to spell it out—everyone knew he was referring to the head of the National Security Bureau. "That old guy was deliberately making things difficult. Before we left, he insisted we bring along a 'tagalong,' or he wouldn't even buy us plane tickets. Damn it, if he pisses me off again, I'll hack his damn system!"

Without further explanation, the person Bennett had noticed as the extra one stepped out from behind the staff.

She was 1.73 meters tall, with an impressive figure—proud curves and a shapely rear. She could easily be a model, a real stunner. Those autumn-water eyes and sexy lips could make any man react just by looking at her.

Unfortunately, such a great figure was hidden under a drab gray long trench coat, paired with a white shirt, black slacks, and flat leather shoes—a total waste. Even a rapist would have to "struggle" hard, torn between her perfect body and that ascetic outfit...

Before Bennett could ask, the woman gave a standard military salute. "Reporting, sir! National Security Bureau junior field operative Grace Miller, reporting for duty!"

"Is this the extra person that old guy assigned us?" Looking her up and down carefully, Bennett didn't show the expected aversion, because his gaze held no lechery, only suspicion and disbelief. "Don't joke with me. I've been a section chief for fifteen years, and he's always treated my department like a dumping ground. I've seen people with intellectual disabilities, physical problems, unclear sexual orientation, speech impediments—you name it. But I've never seen such a pretty girl before. So, tell me, what's your defect?"

"Reporting, sir! My defect is psychological!" Grace Miller replied enthusiastically and loudly. "Whenever I see someone committing a crime or something unfair, I have to bring them to justice!"

"Quite the spirited young lady, huh? But we're a department that investigates the supernatural. I don't think you'll have much room to shine here." Sitting back down, Bennett's tone clearly suggested he wanted her to leave.

"No problem, sir! As long as it's about fighting crime, whether it's humans or ghosts, I'll give it my all!" That loud voice seemed inexhaustible, but when she mentioned ghosts, her tone was full of doubt.

"Since you're so eager, I'll pair you up with Henry Clark." As soon as Bennett said this, everyone packing their luggage instantly froze, scrutinizing the newcomer.

"May I ask what Henry Clark's role is in the team?" Grace Miller's voice finally softened, curiosity in her tone.

"He's quite the 'remarkable' character. The only field investigator in our entire team who gets sent out. In a way, everyone here exists to support him." Bennett wasn't lying, just omitting some things—like the fact that none of his previous partners had come out unscathed. "If you want to fight crime in our line of work, partnering with him is the 'wisest' choice."

"Yes, thank you, sir!" A look of excitement appeared on Grace Miller's face as she immediately began searching the crowd. "Excuse me, which one of you is Henry Clark?"

"By the way, boss, has Henry Clark arrived yet?" Harvey asked quietly.

"He got here an hour before you guys. He's sleeping in the back corner, adjusting to the time difference..." With a laugh, he pointed with his eyes, and everyone finally noticed, in the corner of the office, a black sleeping bag lying on a bed made from four large office desks pushed together. From a distance, it looked like a cocoon, but the wrinkled surface made it look more like a big black turd.

"But it's just from Beijing to Wuhan! What time difference is there to adjust to? This guy's ways of slacking off are getting more and more creative!" Trent complained angrily.

Turning slowly, leaving the reporting team leader behind, Grace Miller walked over to the desk, casting a look of disgust. She hadn't even seen his face yet, but just from his posture, the "hero" she had just been fantasizing about vanished from her mind.

"Sir, is he really the only field investigator you all support?" Turning her head, Grace Miller's voice was trembling, her eyes pleading, "Spare me..."

"You guys are so noisy!" A frustrated voice came from inside the sleeping bag. The black cocoon—or turd-like sleeping bag—squirmed slowly. No butterfly emerged, but instead, a man in gray pajamas crawled out. His beard wasn't as rugged as Trent's, but it hadn't been trimmed in thirty days. His messy black hair gave off a strange odor. Henry Clark scratched his scalp with one hand and yawned, sending dandruff floating down like snow, and the breath from his mouth was enough to make anyone gag.

"Good, you're awake. The boss just said he's going to assign you a partner." Harvey wore a look that said he was ready to watch the show.