Julian Grant felt that this description was simply too fantastical. They didn’t really know Nathan Sanders that well—how could they possibly know where she would hide something?

Julian Grant pressed his lips together, and suddenly a flash of inspiration struck him. He said, “Oh right, I just remembered. The owner of the convenience store once told me that Nathan Sanders loved buying all sorts of stationery from him. Notebooks, pens, tape, that kind of thing. If her mental state was really unstable at the time, and her best friend had already passed away, do you think there’s a chance she wrote her feelings down in a little notebook? That’s actually a good habit.”

The Vault stopped in her tracks, looked at him seriously, and said, “There’s no special little notebook on her desk. And no piles of stationery either.”

Julian Grant mused, “Did her mother take it home? Or maybe, to avoid outsiders checking, she hid it somewhere?”

“All her textbooks and homework are left at school, so why would her mother take just her notebook?” The Vault said, growing puzzled herself. “And why did she buy so much tape and so many notebooks?”

Julian Grant explained, “It could just be a simple hobby. You might not know, but there’s a whole community called the ‘journaling circle’—some enthusiasts gather to discuss how to decorate a notebook, make it look prettier, more unique. As more people get interested, the economic effect spawns related industries. Selling notebooks, selling tape, selling creative collages…”

As he spoke, his voice trailed off. The two exchanged a glance, as if they’d both thought of some overlooked detail.

The Vault said, “I need to go home for a bit.”

Julian Grant immediately said, “I’ll take you.”

The Vault couldn’t understand: “Why are you sticking so close to me? You could go talk to Quinn Sinclair and the people around her, or you could apply to Nathan Sanders’s family to see if you can check Nathan Sanders’s social records before she died. Use your status to your advantage—there’s a lot you could do.”

“What I need to do most right now is make sure you don’t commit suicide.” Julian Grant had to remind her, “Your suicide progress is already at 96%. I have to prioritize your personal safety.”

·

Julian Grant escorted The Vault home, then left temporarily to handle other matters, reminding her several times before leaving to stay at home and call him immediately if anything happened.

He, a big burly man, had suddenly become so nagging, as if he were dealing with a terminally ill patient, leaving The Vault speechless.

Fortunately, the trip wasn’t far. After getting out of the car, The Vault quickly entered the house and said goodbye to him.

Wendy Ward’s room was just as tidy as her dorm. After entering the bedroom, The Vault went straight to the desk and casually started searching through the items on top.

The Vault had originally thought that Nathan Sanders might have given her journal to Wendy Ward to take home. But after searching the entire house, The Vault found nothing of the sort.

…Well, it made sense. Nathan Sanders probably didn’t trust Wendy Ward that much yet.

A bit helpless, she could only start searching carefully from the details.

On the left side of Wendy Ward’s desk was a row of cabinets, with several artbooks inside.

From Wendy Ward’s sketchbooks, it was clear she was interested in comics. The Vault instinctively felt this could be a breakthrough, so she placed the artbooks on the desk and began to look through them carefully, page by page.

The Vault didn’t know much about comics, so she examined them closely, in case Wendy Ward had hidden information in the drawings.

It was another stretch of stillness.

Flipping through pictures was even more time-consuming than going through messy drafts, especially when you had no idea how the other person might have left a message.

Luckily, Wendy Ward didn’t have many artbooks, and after about an hour, the cabinet was emptied.

The Vault sat quietly in a daze for a while, put the last notebook down on her right, her face expressionless, then pulled out the first one from the bottom and started over.

Viewers watching this scene suddenly felt a sense of collapse, as if a bucket of dry ice had been dumped on their excited hearts.

“Starting again? I just got here, and it’s back to AFK search mode?”

“Looking at pictures is still better than cramming for senior year exams, stop complaining.”

“Honestly, these drawings are pretty good—much more refined than a lot of internet-famous designers.”

“The clues in this quest are way too scattered, everything’s hidden so deep, the difficulty is too high.”

“…Even the pro hasn’t found anything. Doesn’t that mean she’s looking in the wrong direction?”

“The simple way would be to start with Quinn Sinclair, but the pro’s suicide progress is already at 96%—she might not last until Quinn Sinclair figures things out.”

·

The second time through the artbooks went much faster—The Vault had already memorized them, and was just checking again to see if anything became clearer.

In less than half an hour, she finished the second round.

The Vault put the books down, pressed the back of her neck, and stretched her joints.

She leaned back in the chair, hands behind her head, staring blankly ahead.

She could vaguely sense the clue was right in front of her, but she just couldn’t grasp it. That feeling of an unreachable itch made her extremely uncomfortable.

Bored, The Vault took out her phone again to check various apps.

The Vault had already checked several social apps on Wendy Ward’s phone. Among the commonly used login accounts, there was a rather hidden alt account.

Previously, Wendy Ward and Nathan Sanders didn’t get along, so Wendy Ward used the alt account to quietly follow Nathan Sanders’s social updates. It was perfectly normal—lots of people keep tabs on their “rivals,” not necessarily for any particular reason.

On WeChat, the two were open friends because they were classmates.

On Weibo, Wendy Ward’s alt only followed the marketing and system accounts forcibly added by the app, plus one account that seemed to be Nathan Sanders’s personal account, which had stopped updating right before her death.

Only on dy, a short video app, did Wendy Ward have just one login, with no posts and no followed accounts.

At first, The Vault thought Wendy Ward just didn’t like using that app, but now she wondered if maybe Nathan Sanders had deleted her own account. After an account is deleted, followers don’t get any notification, so there’s no way to check if Wendy Ward had followed her before.

In that case, Nathan Sanders’s deliberate deletion of her account took on a lot of meaning. Was she afraid someone would find something through it?

The Vault tapped her finger on the screen, thought for a moment, then opened the artbook again, searching by date for the most recent drawing.

That drawing wasn’t finished, not even half the sketch was done, so it was impossible to tell what the final piece would look like. At the top of the page, a line was scrawled: “The kitty in the attic.”

The handwriting was messy.

Most of Wendy Ward’s drawings were of people, rarely animals. This “kitty” seemed out of place. Maybe it wasn’t the title of the drawing, but just a note Wendy Ward jotted down on the latest page.

“The kitty in the attic…” The Vault murmured, and searched for it on Douyin.

After a brief connection prompt, a result with the same ID really did appear in the results list.

The Vault clicked into the user’s homepage and found that this up主 was also a journaling enthusiast.

This “kitty” friend seemed to be fairly well-off, occasionally posting unboxing videos to show fans where she bought her materials and journals, and to recommend their quality.

The Vault perked up and started searching through the videos the user had uploaded, quickly finding a likely unboxing video.

She turned up the volume and played the video.

On screen appeared a pair of hands and a huge box, with the up主’s voice altered in the background as she narrated.

“This is a package sent from City A. The sender said she was leaving the community, so she sold me everything at half price. I didn’t expect the box to be this big—let’s take a look together.”

She took the items out one by one.

The Vault didn’t recognize the pens, but from the up主’s tone, she seemed very excited.

By the end of the unboxing, the up主’s excitement had turned to anxiety and doubt.

“This is way too cheap! That can’t be right. Did the girl pack the wrong stuff?”

The hands in the video picked up a notebook and flipped through it, revealing pages densely filled with writing.

She said, “This notebook has already been used—why send it to me? I’m sure she packed it by mistake. I’ll contact her about it later.”

She hesitated, then added, “Actually, I placed this order back in March, but it only arrived a couple of days ago. I thought it was a scam, since I couldn’t reach her after that, but then I got a delivery notice out of the blue. I’ll try again—if anyone knows this girl, please help pass on the message. That’s it for today’s unboxing, bye~”

Chapter 13, Update 1

The Vault immediately sent a private message to the user.

The Vault: Hello, may I ask if the package in the unboxing video you posted a few days ago was sent from A City No. 1 High School?