"Hello? Little Sanders, are you all right?" someone outside shouted. "Little Sanders, have you seen your Aunt Sun? She just came up saying she wanted to check on you, but now she's suddenly disappeared!"

Not far away, the hostage was affected; her emotions, which had just calmed down, were instantly stirred up again. She gathered all her strength, shaking her body repeatedly, trying to use the sound of the chair scraping and bumping against the floor to attract the attention of the people outside the door.

Two kinds of sounds swirled around The Vault's ears at the same time. The Vault strode over, picked up the remote, turned on the TV, and cranked the volume to the maximum, drowning out all other noises.

The people outside noticed the change inside and raised their voices: "Little Sanders! Little Sanders, can you open the door? What are you doing in there? I know you can hear me, at least answer me! Little Sanders!"

The Vault remained unmoved, squatted down beside the female corpse, wiped her fingers clean, and pressed them on the unlock button.

Within three hours after death, it's still possible to unlock with a fingerprint. Both had died not long ago, so The Vault successfully used her finger to unlock the screen.

The middle-aged man, getting no response, kept banging on the door, his actions growing more forceful, almost as if he was about to smash a hole through it.

His increasingly rapid pounding sounded like the Grim Reaper's death knell, making even third-party viewers tense up. Yet The Vault, right at the crime scene, still had the leisure to squat on the floor and change the boot password.

"Little Sanders, if you keep this up, I'm calling the police! Why won't you open the door? Did something happen? Come out and we can talk it over together—what's the point of locking yourself in there!"

The Vault opened an app, turned on location services, calmly booked a taxi, and bought four or five tickets, leaving the online viewers dumbfounded with every move.

"Little Sanders!"

The voices outside became chaotic, with different tones joining in—clearly, other neighbors had gathered after noticing something was wrong, trying to persuade the person inside. A rough estimate put the number at at least three.

"Why can't you just talk things out? Hurry up and open the door!"

The viewers in the livestream, thinking themselves battle-hardened and able to stay calm even if Mount Tai collapsed before them, now began to grow anxious and uneasy under the barrage of background noise, feeling a sense of urgency from being watched.

When they saw The Vault put down her phone and still not choose to escape, but instead head to the bedroom to rummage through the wardrobe, they all broke character and shouted at the screen, even spitting at it. All their composure and skills vanished in front of The Vault.

What is this person doing? If you don't run now, are you waiting to get arrested?

No matter how fiercely the viewers complained, The Vault remained detached from the world, always acting at her own pace.

She searched quickly, with clear goals and methodical movements.

She took a set of shirt and trousers, a set of casual clothes from the wardrobe, found some cash and cosmetics from the cabinet, packed everything into a black bag, and walked out with it. The whole process took less than two minutes.

In those two minutes, the people outside began trying to ram the security door. With each dull "thud," the doorframe and wall shook, sounding terrifying.

If they managed to break in, they would see the " Little Sanders " they kept calling for, now lying in a pool of blood, long since dead.

But from their conversation, it was clear that the people in this building didn't know that The Vault—Nancy Dawson—had come.

That was good news.

The Vault lowered her voice and shouted, "Get lost!"

Her voice was so shrill and hoarse that it lost its tone and wasn't very distinct, so the people outside didn't notice anything wrong.

The neighbors fell silent for two seconds, then began to issue stern warnings.

"We've already called the police, they'll be here any minute! If you've done something, let her go now and you can still get a lighter sentence for turning yourself in. We're all neighbors, don't make things so ugly. Hurry up and let her go!"

"Wife! Are you okay?"

"We're going to call a locksmith!"

The Vault walked over, pulled open the floor-to-ceiling curtains, and the sudden light made the hostage close her eyes, her already wet eyes filling with tears again.

The Vault removed the towel from her mouth, and the hostage immediately let out a long-suppressed, piercing scream. The people outside heard it, and there was a brief silence before The Vault stuffed the towel back in.

The crowd's emotions exploded instantly:

"What are you trying to do!"

"Little Sanders, don't do anything stupid! Beating your wife isn't a serious crime, but if you kill two people, you're finished!"

The Vault went to the study, brought out a laptop, adjusted the camera to face the door, and took down the speakers from both sides of the TV, connecting them to the computer.

The TV sound was suddenly cut off, plunging the room into a vacuum-like silence. This change also affected the crowd outside, making them stop their arguing.

The Vault typed a line on the screen, and a mechanical male voice read it out:

"All of you shut up and call the police. I want to negotiate with them!"

"Stop banging on the door, or I'll kill her."

The crowd replied in terror, "Okay, okay, don't do anything rash, let's talk this out."

After calming the people outside, The Vault used a social app on her phone to connect with the computer.

With the last task done, and the viewers' hearts pounding, The Vault finally picked up her packed bag, walked into the bathroom, and climbed out through the skylight, landing safely with the help of the pipes.

·

Below the bathroom was a rather secluded path, known to few. At this moment, the crowd was all drawn to the front, leaving this area completely deserted.

When the camera swept across the wide sky and empty road, the viewers all breathed a sigh of relief.

"Damn, finally out!"

"Lady, you're playing with fire."

"So why was I so nervous?"

"People without strong nerves really can't play this game. If it were me, I'd have run ages ago. Scared me to death."

"Are those few items really that important? Just having the phone is enough, you can buy everything else outside!"

"Buy? You're underestimating the police's ability to track things. I just want to know where she's going now."

However, the viewers barely had time to relax before, as The Vault turned out of the alley, she was met head-on by a team in police uniforms, hurrying over.

The police response was faster than The Vault had expected. These players were eager to join the game, practically running over.

You have to know, Nancy Dawson is a familiar face in the public security system—if she shows her face, she'll definitely be recognized. The Vault instinctively turned her back.

It was this instinctive movement that made the man leading the team look over in her direction.

Chapter 45: Pursuit

The Vault instinctively felt a piercing gaze shoot at the back of her head, and the footsteps of the group slowed down. This made The Vault realize that the person in charge of this pursuit must be an experienced criminal investigator, extremely sensitive to suspects. If she showed any sign of guilt, he would catch it.

The Vault barely hesitated, and immediately, with a not-so-obvious southern accent, shouted toward the intersection ahead, "Hey, hurry up! I've nagged you hundreds of times and you're still not out—what's so interesting? It's just a couple's quarrel! Don't you know what time the tickets are?"

Her actions didn't dispel the suspicions of the people behind her. As the main commander of this pursuit, Wallace Franklin sensed something unusual about The Vault and subtly moved closer to her.

He had worked in public security for many years, with a creed of never overlooking even the smallest clue. This habit had helped him avoid danger and catch criminals many times—after all, criminal investigation never allows for the slightest carelessness.

Even The Vault felt her heart race as the distance between them closed. She stood still, kept her muscles relaxed, and let her gaze wander ahead, playing the role of someone waiting.

Suddenly, a ringtone sounded from her jacket pocket, accompanied by a slight vibration, making her fingers twitch.

It was the most ordinary melody, but The Vault had never realized a phone notification could be so loud. She appeared annoyed, shoved her hand into her pocket, and swiped at the green icon.

The caller was the taxi driver The Vault had booked earlier.

"Hello, you're here already? Sorry, please wait a bit longer, just park outside the bank, okay? We'll be right there, really!"

The Vault's voice was loud, one hand in her pocket as she paced in place, but she didn't deliberately avoid the police behind her, who could still see part of her profile.

"Park at the alley entrance? That's fine, A3686B, right? Okay, got it, we're almost there. Just five minutes, thank you, sir, thank you."

The Vault hung up, clicked her tongue in annoyance, and looked down at her screen, fiddling with it, doing who knows what.

Wallace Franklin sped up, now only about two meters behind her.