The sky lowered its gaze to better observe the subtle expressions on his face.

Julian Grant took out another notebook from his pocket, opened it, and began to take notes. He didn’t understand why The Vault was asking for such detailed information.

The Vault spoke in a low, gentle voice: “Do you know the deceased?”

Justin Hall replied, “No, I don’t.”

Julian Grant quickly jotted this down.

Suddenly, The Vault asked an unrelated question: “What do you usually use to communicate at work?”

Justin Hall looked up, equally puzzled.

The Vault smiled and said, “Do you have a cell phone? Phones are pretty cheap these days.”

Justin Hall was momentarily stunned.

Looking at the notes in her notebook, The Vault said, “I saw that around 5:30, you called the police from the nearby convenience store. Why didn’t you use your own phone and instead went to the store?”

Justin Hall fell silent, picking at the seam of his pants with his fingernail, staring at his not-so-clean shoe tips.

“Is that a hard question to answer?” The Vault smiled. “Did you lose your phone? Or were you too flustered to think of it? Just tell the truth, there’s nothing else to worry about.”

Justin Hall’s voice was rather quiet, especially with the surrounding noise, making him sound short of breath: “No. I just didn’t want to get involved at first, didn’t want any trouble. But when I got near the convenience store, I felt that wasn’t right, so I called the police.”

“I see.” The Vault seemed convinced and continued, “What are your usual working hours?”

Justin Hall gripped the broom in his hand, pressed his lips together, and turned slightly away, subtly showing some resistance.

These were all simple questions, even seemingly unrelated to the case. Justin Hall’s behavior was clearly unusual, causing Julian Grant to glance at him a few more times.

For the first time, Julian Grant began to pay real attention to this informant. In terms of dress, demeanor, and appearance, he was extremely ordinary, with the air of an “honest man,” the kind of “nice guy” that would never arouse suspicion and would be ruled out immediately.

Seeing that he didn’t answer, The Vault answered herself: “I remember that sanitation workers don’t have fixed hours; it depends on their assigned area and local circumstances. Usually, near main roads, they’re required to finish cleaning by 5 or 6 a.m. Once traffic picks up, it becomes unsafe to work. Is that right?”

Justin Hall didn’t object, letting out a shallow breath.

The Vault pointed to the busy road behind her, where vehicles kept passing by.

“For example, here. Although there aren’t any residential areas nearby, it’s close to an industrial zone and a highway entrance, so there are lots of big trucks passing by from early morning. There’s even a driving test center not far from here. Overall, it’s a pretty busy stretch of road. If you’re too late, it’s not very safe.”

Julian Grant followed her gaze, watching Justin Hall out of the corner of his eye. The latter showed no reaction.

The Vault said, “Can you answer me? Whether I’m right or wrong, you can just nod or shake your head.”

Justin Hall lifted his eyelids, revealing cloudy eyes. Cooperatively, though slowly, he nodded.

The Vault’s tone remained polite, without any hint of accusation: “Which area do you clean? What’s your cleaning route? It’s about a fifteen-minute walk from here to the convenience store. At 5:15, were you heading back to rest and passed by here, or had you already cleaned this area once but didn’t notice the deceased?”

Justin Hall said, “I wasn’t feeling well today, got up late, and just arrived here.”

The Vault: “Where do you feel unwell?”

Justin Hall: “Just tired, that’s all.”

The Vault watched him, then nodded. “Alright, I understand.”

Justin Hall switched the broom to his other hand and asked, “Can I go now?”

“You can,” The Vault said. “We may need your cooperation again later, so please keep your phone available.”

Justin Hall left his phone number with them, bent down to pick up his bag, and pushed his cart away.

Julian Grant kept watching Justin Hall’s figure. His back was no longer straight, and his steps were uneven, as if weighed down by countless burdens of life, making one feel inexplicably sad.

The Vault nudged his shoulder and said, “Q-ge, go check on those questions I just mentioned.”

She counted on her fingers: “Justin Hall’s usual working hours, cleaning area. Then check the nearby surveillance footage to verify his statement. Also, look into Justin Hall’s file. See if he has any family, what his financial situation is, and whether he has any connection to the deceased. Include his education and work history. And talk to his colleagues about his usual behavior. But keep it casual—don’t make it seem like he’s a suspect, so as not to affect him too much.”

She rattled off a list, and Julian Grant wrote it all down, then asked, “Is he suspicious?”

“Who knows?” The Vault put away her notebook and shrugged. “From my gut feeling, no. But also from my gut, he’s hiding something on purpose. I just can’t tell what. Mainly, I don’t understand the reason for his repeated silences.”

Julian Grant said, “Maybe he’s just not good at talking to people. Social anxiety—needs to think a long time before speaking.”

“Hmm…” The Vault pondered for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think he has social anxiety.”

Julian Grant paused in his note-taking and said, “Didn’t you say you don’t study psychology?”

“Social anxiety disorder is a type of neurosis, mainly characterized by fear, and can manifest as nervousness, anxiety, avoidance, or blurting things out.” The Vault turned and walked along the route Justin Hall had indicated, her clear voice steady as she spoke, “At most, Justin Hall is introverted and a bit nervous when questioned by the police, but that’s a normal reaction. His answers were clear, mostly affirmative sentences, and his pupils and muscles didn’t show abnormal tremors, which means he knew what he was saying. When I asked difficult questions, he didn’t get anxious or flustered, but thought it over and answered. Being reserved doesn’t mean being afraid—his expression and eyes told me he wasn’t afraid.”

Julian Grant said, “Then what does it mean? I feel like there are some questions he didn’t need to lie about. If he really killed someone, he’d have prepared answers and wouldn’t react so calmly, but he didn’t. That’s contradictory.”

The Vault thought for a moment and said, “Maybe he just purely doesn’t want to talk to you.” He doesn’t want to cooperate with the investigation.

Julian Grant: “…?” Why do I feel oddly hurt by that?

Julian Grant walked a couple of steps with her, then realized, “Actually, maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you?”

The Vault turned back and said frankly, “Aren’t we together?”

“You…” Julian Grant gave up. “Forget it.”

The two of them walked the route once, occasionally glancing toward where the deceased had fallen. They found that, standing on a certain stone curb, it was indeed as Justin Hall had said—Thomas Daniels’s body was easier to spot from there.

Given the time of year, around five o’clock it was still not fully light. With a flashlight or streetlamp, the blue suit of the deceased, half-hidden in the grass, would probably stand out even more.

As for the smell of alcohol, they didn’t notice it—perhaps most of the alcohol had already evaporated.

The Vault remembered and asked, “Oh right, how long will it take to get those answers?”

“No idea,” Julian Grant said. “It’s a closed test, so we’ll just have to wait. Usually, if the file is complete, it’ll be within a day of in-game time.”

The Vault wasn’t satisfied, but said, “Then let’s go meet the victim’s family first.”

·

The screening room was silent, probably due to Henry Harris’s intimidating presence. The staff and psychological evaluators only whispered among themselves.

The scenario had just begun, and many players were still in the inquiry stage with no progress, so there was nothing for them to focus on. On Quinn Foster’s side, though, they were watching with great interest, almost as if they needed some sunflower seeds and a beer, spamming “666” in the comments.

Just as things were getting interesting, the always stern-faced Henry Harris suddenly spoke: “Send Justin Hall’s file to her right now.”

Everyone looked up in surprise.

A staff member on the side raised their hand obediently and asked, “Um, which contestant?”

Henry Harris said, “The Vault.”

Quinn Shelby was startled and said, “Captain, isn’t that against the rules? It’ll affect everyone’s progress in the scenario.”

Henry Harris gave him a cool glance and said, “The Vault has a keen eye, especially for analyzing people’s emotions. I’d almost mistake her for an experienced frontline officer. For someone like her, trying to control the scenario’s pace is just a waste of everyone’s time. Since she’s already noticed Justin Hall’s abnormal behavior and found the key clues, there’s no need to hold her back. If any other player reached the same point in the story, I’d give them the file early too. Any objections?”