As wisps of smoke swirled around him, a sleek black vehicle glided to a halt. The car door opened, revealing an impeccably dressed elderly gentleman.

It was Waylen.

Even Leonel, typically unflappable, momentarily lost his poise. He extinguished his cigarette and greeted, "Mr. Fowler!"

Waylen was holding a thermal food box.

He scrutinized Leonel before shifting his gaze upstairs. His tone took on a slightly elevated pitch as he asked, “Are you Living here?"