The guide didn't lead Roy very far; after a few twists and turns, they arrived at a parking lot.
"Get in," he said, pointing to the back of a truck.
It was a vehicle normally used to transport food supplies. The rear compartment was enclosed, and the air reeked of poultry.
Roy gave him a deep look, etching the man's face firmly into his memory. Then, with a push of his arms, he leaped into the back of the truck.
The man shivered under Roy's gaze.
Roy hadn't done anything—he had merely looked at him—yet it felt as though a heavy, suffocating cloud had descended.
The man scratched his bald head awkwardly, muttered something under his breath, and climbed into the cab.
The truck rolled forward smoothly.
When they reached the checkpoint at the gate, Roy heard a couple of casual questions, but no one even bothered to check the cargo before waving them through.
Roy's expression grew even darker.
What a joke—
This was the level of security they relied on to protect them.
And it was this sloppy even after an important person had gone missing?
Normally, wouldn't security be tightened even more after such an incident?
He couldn't help but wonder:
Over the past few months, had the crew managed to shoot the movie safely because of good protection—or had they simply been ridiculously lucky that no one else had gone missing earlier?
Bouncing along in the stinking truck, Roy checked his watch.
They had already been driving for over an hour.
He had no idea where they were headed—or even if the people who took him were the ones who had kidnapped Laila.
But as long as there was even the slightest chance to see her, he was willing to take the risk!
Finally, the truck stopped.
Roy couldn't see outside from inside the compartment, but from the sounds filtering in, he could tell they had moved from the isolated filming areas into a populated town.
He heard the sounds of children playing and loud, scolding voices.
"Get out," someone banged on the back of the truck.
Roy opened the door and jumped down, finally getting a chance to take in his surroundings.
It looked like a slum, much like the ones he had seen in movies—dilapidated houses stretched as far as the eye could see.
Still, compared to the villages near the filming site, these structures at least resembled proper houses.
"Follow me," the guide said.
By now, he had stripped off his military uniform and looked no different from any ordinary resident.
Roy pressed his lips tightly together and silently followed.
The streets were extremely narrow.
Even two people walking side by side felt cramped, and if someone came from the opposite direction, they had to turn sideways to pass.
No wonder the truck had to park outside.
The area seemed to be built into a hillside.
They kept climbing, and Roy noticed that as they went further in, the houses gradually improved.
If the lower areas were a true slum, this middle section resembled ordinary residential neighborhoods.
They were still climbing.
If Roy guessed right, the very top would be where the leaders lived—the best houses, the best environment.
The most uncomfortable part was the constant, piercing stares.
Countless eyes—some out in the open, more hidden in the shadows—watched him intently.
These people might not be Martin's men, but they would surely be eager to sell information for a few bucks.
Now, he truly understood Xiao Ye's words.
Under so many eyes, even the most skilled operative couldn't sneak in undetected.
If any of their people had tried, Martin would have had plenty of time to move Laila elsewhere—and then they might never find her again.
After trekking up the steep paths for about half an hour, they finally stopped.
Ahead stood a large building—at least large compared to the others around it—surrounded by a wall topped with barbed wire.
It was easily the biggest building they had seen along the way.
"Wait here," the guide said before leaving.
Roy expressionlessly watched him walk away, then quickly scanned the surroundings.
More than ten men glared at him with a mixture of hostility and wariness.
These were Martin's elite guards—the kind who had seen bloodshed more than once.
An ordinary man might have fainted from sheer fear.
But Roy wasn't ordinary.
In terms of combat ability, he wouldn't lose to anyone here.
Still, he ignored the hostile stares.
He wasn't here to pick a fight—he was here to see Laila.
Until then, he couldn't afford any distractions.
A moment later, the iron gate creaked open, and a man walked out.
He wore a white shirt, and glasses, and carried himself with an air of quiet sophistication.
Just based on appearance, you'd think he was an elite from the tech or finance world—not some thug.
"Welcome, Mr. Roy Seasonstar," the man said, extending his hand after sizing Roy up.
"I'm under Mr. Martin's command. You can call me Flanders."
Roy didn't shake his hand.
Face cold, he said, "I want to see Laila."
"Of course," Flanders said smoothly, showing no sign of offense.
He gestured politely: "Please, this way."
Roy shot him a hard glance, feeling a heavy weight settle in his heart.
People like Flanders—those who hid their malice behind a polished exterior—were the hardest to deal with.
As Xiao Ye would say: "All dressed up on the outside, but rotten to the core inside."
With someone like Flanders at Martin's side, rescuing Laila would be even harder.
And Flanders' appearance explained something Roy had been puzzling over:
How had Martin, so stupid as to kidnap Laila for a movie, been smart enough to pull it off right under everyone's noses?
Now it made sense.
It had to be Flanders' planning.
Roy refused to believe there was another mastermind hiding in this den of fools.
"That house up ahead is where Director Moran is staying," Flanders said, pointing.
"I won't intrude on your reunion."
He left quickly, almost suspiciously so—as if he wasn't even worried about Roy trying to snatch Laila away.
But Roy immediately dismissed the thought.
Even if he were ten times stronger, it would be impossible to fight his way out while surrounded by so many enemies.
Today marked the ninth day since Laila's disappearance.
Living without her felt like being a fish out of water—like his very life was draining away with each passing day.
And now,
even though he hadn't seen her yet, just sensing her presence nearby made him feel alive again.
One step.
Another step.
Each step is faster than the last.
He sprinted toward the house.
He had waited far too long.