Chapter 209

The group was deep in an intense exploration of the abandoned dormitory building.

They searched meticulously but quickly.

After all, most of the dormitory had been cleaned out, so finding a conspicuous greeting card shouldn't have been too difficult.

An hour had passed by the time they finished searching the first three floors, but they still hadn't found a single trace of the card.

Feeling disheartened, they left the building and gathered again in the open space in front of it.

Charles trailed behind Floyd, sensing a chill emanating from him.

In the dim light, Charles caught a glimpse of something unusual in Floyd's hair—a strange glint, like... a streak of eerie red.

He moved closer, trying to get a better look.

Even in the poor lighting, he clearly saw it was a dried bloodstain.

Seeing that, Charles felt a shiver run down his spine.

Why would Floyd have blood in his hair?

He slowly looked around.

Thankfully, the ceiling above them was free of anything horrifying.

Charles scanned the dirty ceiling further, seeing no grotesque faces or eerie footprints. The ceiling above them was blank.

"What's wrong?" Floyd, hearing Charles' footsteps stop behind him, turned around, puzzled, and saw Charles staring at the ceiling.

Charles looked back at Floyd, tilting his head calmly. "You've got something dirty in your hair."

Floyd's expression turned tense.

He frantically ran his hands through his hair, then looked at his fingers.

His fingertips were smeared with sticky blood!

"What the hell? Where did this blood come from?"

"My head's not injured... and I didn't feel anything!"

"Where did this blood come from?"

As Floyd stared at the blood, panicking and muttering to himself, Charles pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it to Floyd to wipe the blood from his hair.

But soon, Charles noticed something terrifying—the bloodstain in Floyd's hair wouldn't come off, no matter how much he wiped. It always left a trace.

"Charles, why aren't you saying anything? What did you see?" Already unnerved by the inexplicable blood, Floyd's anxiety grew as he saw Charles' increasingly grave expression.

Charles didn't answer. He furrowed his brow and then moved closer to Floyd, suddenly lowering his head. "Check if there's any blood in my hair."

Floyd quickly looked at Charles' head.

But Charles' hair was completely dry, with nothing unusual.

Floyd ran his hand through Charles' hair, then, horrified, showed his hand to Charles.

"Look, it's blood!"

"Charles... you have it too!"

Charles looked up, not speaking, but staring at Floyd with a cold glint in his eyes.

He had clearly felt Floyd's hand—wet and cold—touching his hair.

Floyd was playing some kind of trick, smearing his own blood onto Charles' hair!

In that moment, countless ways to make Floyd disappear flashed through Charles' mind, but each method came with a heavy price.

Fiona had sternly warned him that in this terror-filled room, they must never kill a fellow "player" doing the room task.

If a "player" died in the room, they would become a high-level ghost, lurking in the task, waiting for revenge!

With that in mind, Charles quickly dismissed those dark thoughts.

He pulled out another tissue and handed it to Floyd. "Help me wipe it off."