The crime scene was located at an abandoned factory.

There were large oil drums scattered everywhere, filled with remaining debris, iron skewers, and bony remnants of wings.

Harry was quite familiar with this type of environment.

"These factories were abandoned when Los Angeles passed certain city ordinances, causing them to relocate," he explained. "Later, they became gathering places for truant kids. They'd light fires here, hang out, barbecue. It was also where gangs recruited new blood. In fact, you can find this stuff in any slum."

Dean drove by, glanced around the perimeter, and frowned. "It looks pretty deserted. Guess it's been a while since anyone's hung around here."

"I'll get to the bottom of this!" Harry nodded.

He knew his role all too well: don't ask questions, be a good sidekick, and just stay out of the way.

Outside the factory, two police cars were parked, and colleagues from the forensics team were examining a charred, abandoned vehicle.

And beyond that, a familiar bald head was attempting to comfort a pair of grieving, middle-aged parents, his expression sour as he seemed unsure how to handle them.

The bald man was Hawk, and he was quite diligent when it came to work.

Hearing the sound of an approaching car, Hawk turned his head and, as if seeing a savior, ran over. "Dean, you finally arrived! This case is a tough one. At least, I don't know how to deal with these rambling complainants."

Dean rolled down the window and handed him a cigarette. "What's the situation exactly?"

"The complainants are a couple of scholars into the occult, and they're also quite famous Psychics in Los Angeles. They reported their son missing last night, saying he was in danger, but when the patrol officers checked, they found the son was fine and ignored it. Today, however, they came to the police station again and provided this factory's address. They know some people. My colleagues didn't have much choice, so they decided to follow through for show and ended up actually discovering their son's burned vehicle."

"Wow! Could this be the couple pulling a stunt to show off their psychic prowess?" Harry asked. He wasn't a fan of charlatans.

Hawk shrugged. "It's not clear yet, but they're difficult to deal with. They've been leveraging their connections to pressure us, claiming our negligence yesterday led to their son's death."

These kinds of influential troublemakers were always the least favorite and most unwanted for these low-ranking officers.

Fortunately, Dean was there, and Hawk knew Dean wouldn't pamper them.

And indeed, Dean didn't. He got out of the car, glanced at the couple's clothing, and chuckled lightly. "Who do they know?"

"Some people from the press and a few government officials," Hawk grimaced. "Some rich folks love to dabble in tarot and spirit communication, so these two opportunists got their chances to mingle."

At that, Dean shook his head. "Hawk, you guys are too soft. The moment that kind of nonsense can put pressure on you, it means you've lost sight of who you are!"

Having said that, Dean approached the couple who were hurling abuse at the patrol officers. He stepped in front of an officer who had taken Hawk's place and been spat on. "Sorry, folks," Dean said, "this is a crime scene. Please keep quiet. If you have complaints, take them to the precinct instead of interfering with my colleagues here!"

The beleaguered patrol officer, rescued by Dean, gave him a grateful look and quickly stepped aside, leaving the battlefield to Dean and the couple.

With no target for her outburst, the middle-aged woman, her eyes wide and ringed with black eyeliner, her dark, thick lips smacking together, directly cursed Dean and his family.

"Fuck! What asshole did you crawl out of, you son of a bitch?"

She pointed her slender finger at Dean, prodding him. "If anything bad happened to my son, I swear, I'll make you bastards regret ever being born!"

HISS.

Harry, following behind Dean, covered his eyes and inhaled sharply upon hearing the woman speak to Dean in such a manner.

She wants to die, doesn't she? She should just jump off a building! At least that way, death would be swift. What is she thinking, provoking Dean?!

Hawk also tensed, his eyes fixed on Dean's hands, terrified that Dean might just pull out his gun and shoot the complainant in front of everyone.

Fortunately, Dean, faced with the woman's insults, just calmly wiped the spittle from his face. He looked mildly at the equally upset middle-aged man beside her.

"Buddy, you brought this bitch here. Are you sure you're okay with her barking all over the place?"

"What?"

Before the middle-aged man could respond, his wife, dressed like a specter, let out a shriek and lunged, hands outstretched, for Dean's face.

The next moment, a shadow flashed by.

The woman felt a sharp pain in her jaw. Dizziness and vertigo overcame her as she was lifted off the ground. As her feet left the earth, her husband's shocked expression and the blue sky with white clouds became her last impression.

Dean sent the woman flying with a single kick. He then smiled faintly and waved to Hawk. "Arrest her. Send her to the most expensive hospital in Los Angeles for treatment. Sue her for publicly assaulting a detective and obstructing an investigation. I also suspect there are issues with her mental state. Have her evaluated. If she doesn't pass, send her straight to a psychiatric hospital for treatment."

"No problem!"

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