Antonio Lear’s expression was complicated as he looked at the pair. The Central Intelligence Agency—CIA—was, on paper, the most powerful intelligence service in America.
But compared to the Bureau of Paranormal Affairs, its authority didn’t even come close.
Especially since both Clarissa and Mark were A-grade operatives from the Bureau—he, as a field office chief, couldn’t afford to cross them.
"Mr. Mark, Ms. Clarissa—welcome to Los Angeles!"
Clarissa gave Antonio Lear a cold, businesslike glance. Her tone was clipped: "Mr. Lear, do you have all the video footage I requested?"
"Everything’s ready," Antonio Lear replied politely. "Please, both of you, follow me."
An hour later, after reviewing a mountain of surveillance footage, Clarissa circled a section of downtown Los Angeles on the city map.
"Chief Lear, send teams to lock down this area and search every building, door to door!" Clarissa ordered.
Antonio Lear’s brow furrowed. “Ms. Clarissa, that’s a huge operation. We’ll get a flood of complaints.”
Clarissa shot back, "If you don’t want to catch the mastermind behind this arson spree, you’re welcome to refuse."
"What?"
A flash of excitement crossed Antonio Lear’s face. "You’ve found the mastermind behind the arson spree?"
Mark finally spoke up, his tone confident and a little smug. "The Bureau of Paranormal Affairs gets results you CIA guys can only dream of. Clarissa here is our top strategic analyst—if she says she’s found the culprit, she has. So, Chief Lear, your job isn’t to question her. It’s to follow orders."
Lear flushed with embarrassment, a flicker of resentment in his eyes. Still, he kept quiet, swallowed his pride, and sent every agent he had into the field. He also called in SWAT to help lock down the area.
After all, if they caught the arson mastermind, he’d get some of the credit too—so he’d just have to grit his teeth and bear it.
The CIA moved fast. In just twenty minutes, the whole area was locked down, and every street camera was routed to a temporary command center.
Officially, Antonio Lear was in charge of the operation, but in reality, Clarissa was calling the shots.
"Miss Clarissa, as you ordered, the entire district is sealed off."
Clarissa swept a hand through her golden hair. "Mr. Lear, get your agents moving—start the search."
"Yes, ma’am!"
Antonio Lear hurried off. Mark, standing behind Clarissa, voiced his concern: "Clarissa, aren’t you worried you’re tipping our hand?"
Clarissa flashed a confident smile. "That’s exactly what I want. And Mark, be ready—I’ve got a feeling our guy’s not just an A-grade hypnotist. He probably has other tricks up his sleeve. If those idiots can’t catch him, it’ll be your turn."
Mark grinned and flexed his fist. "Don’t worry—if that bastard shows up, I’ll smash his balls to pieces!"
Clarissa laughed. "You’re such a brute! But I kinda like that."
On the living room sofa.
Ian Song’s eyes snapped open. Activating his clairvoyant power, he saw SWAT teams swarming the area and CIA agents methodically checking every nearby apartment.
He, Faye Shangguan, and Cynthia Murong had come here in disguise.
But their identities were completely fake—one serious check and they’d be exposed.
"Looks like the CIA’s got some skills after all," Ian murmured.
He said quietly, then got up and knocked on Faye and Cynthia’s door.
"Who is it?"
Faye’s voice came from inside.
"Yeah, you two need to get up—CIA agents are right outside!" Ian called softly.
Instantly, chaos erupted in the room.
Five minutes later, Faye Shangguan and Cynthia Murong stepped out, fully dressed.
"So what do we do now?" Faye asked, worry written all over her face.
Cynthia didn’t say a word, but her expression said it all.
If Ian didn’t care about keeping his powers secret, he had plenty of ways to escape—and the CIA wouldn’t even get close.
"Alright, let me give you two a makeover."
Three minutes later, Ian had transformed both women into a pair of white girls.
Ian disguised himself as a six-foot-three Black strongman.
After an eight-minute delay, CIA agents had already reached the building.
Knock, knock, knock!
Someone knocked at the door.
Using his clairvoyant power, Ian saw one CIA agent and two fully armed SWAT officers outside. Each wore a pinhole camera streaming their every move back to the command center.
"Is it them?"
At the sound of knocking, Faye and Cynthia tensed up.
"Don’t worry—I’ve got this," Ian reassured them.
Ian walked to the door and pulled it open.
The three outside froze for a split second at the sight of Ian. The file said a white couple lived here, but now a Black man was answering the door.
The CIA agent reacted first, reaching for his gun. The two SWAT officers hesitated, guns already in hand, but Ian moved even faster.
Thwap, thwap, thwap!
Three soft pops—his force pierced their foreheads. As they collapsed, Ian flipped off the pinhole cameras strapped to their chests.
Temporary command center.
Clarissa zoomed in on feed seventy-two, replaying it three times. A satisfied smile curled at her lips. "Mark, I think we’ve found our target—he’s at 392 XX Street. But be careful. He’s not just an A-grade hypnotist; he’s got top-tier disguise skills, and he’s an air-type esper, at least B-grade."
After killing the three men, Ian led Faye and Cynthia downstairs, swiping the homeowner’s Ford sedan as they left.
"Huh?"
Ian noticed something odd—all the SWAT and CIA agents were pulling back. Did they realize they were outmatched and decide to retreat?
But Ian doubted it. Suddenly, he sensed something—America must be sending in a real heavy hitter.
Just then—
A figure dropped from the sky, landing with a thunderous crash that blocked the Ford’s path.
Ian looked up. Blocking his way was a young Black man, about six feet tall, with arms like tree trunks. It was Mark, the Bureau of Paranormal Affairs’ A-grade operative.