The Vault stood at the doorway, glanced at the time, and once again showed a dissatisfied expression.

How long does it take to calm down? How long does it take to get from school to home? Surely they wouldn’t keep them waiting for half a day?

Julian Grant seemed quite experienced and simply sat down on the stairs. The Vault kept thinking, unwilling to give up—should she go to the school to intercept them, or stay put and wait?

At that moment, there was a faint “click,” a green light flashed, the doorknob turned automatically, and the door opened a crack as if blown by the wind.

The Vault froze in place, thinking she’d seen a ghost. A red prompt box popped up on the interface:

[Note: While waiting, players may enter the house to search. The interior has been restored according to the police’s initial investigation records. Please finish searching before NPC Sylvia Shaw returns home. Data generated during the search will not be saved. Countdown: 26 minutes.]

Julian Grant jumped up and exclaimed, “This is too much! You guys just turn on the green light and—”

The Vault looked over in confusion.

Julian Grant’s tongue got tied, dragging out the word “and” for a long time before forcibly changing his tone: “—so user-friendly. You’ve improved, guys. The pace of this closed beta instance isn’t dragging at all.”

The Vault couldn’t figure out Quincy, this man, and reached out to push the door wide open, revealing the full view of the living room inside.

Since the search data wouldn’t be saved anyway, The Vault didn’t bother taking off her shoes and stepped right in. Julian Grant followed closely behind her.

The living room was full of signs of daily life; trash from a fruit platter was still on the coffee table, and judging by the color of the banana peels, it seemed it hadn’t been cleaned up since yesterday.

The Vault only gave the living room a quick once-over before turning to head to the bedroom.

Thomas Daniels’s bedroom had a scent of mixed cosmetics that hit you as soon as you opened the door. The walk-in closet adjoining the bedroom was filled with clothes and handbags; the desk and windowsill were almost entirely covered with women’s cosmetics and various jewelry. Opening a closet door against the wall revealed over a hundred pairs of high heels.

The Vault didn’t recognize those brands, but anything kept like this must have some value. She laughed, “Their marriage must be pretty good. Thomas Daniels may not be a great person, but he’s generous enough to his wife.”

“He’s pretty generous to himself, too. That watch on his wrist is over six hundred thousand.” Julian Grant stepped aside and showed a few boxes in the closet. “Each of these watches is worth over four hundred thousand. The most expensive limited edition one is hard to get, and goes for about a million on the market. His factory is profitable, but not to the point where he can spend so recklessly. He must just be someone who doesn’t really control his spending.”

The Vault thought to herself that it was a good thing she didn’t know much about these things, or just hearing about it would give her a heart attack. She didn’t understand the pleasures of the wealthy.

The Vault left, still puzzled, to check the other rooms. When she got to the most remote room on the first floor, she reached out to open the door as usual, but it was stuck.

She asked in surprise, “Why is this door locked?”

Julian Grant bent down to check: “There’s dust under the door crack. It’s been locked for a long time.”

“Why would you lock a room in your own house?” The Vault asked curiously. “Hey? If I say ‘open sesame,’ can the tech guy from Trident open the door for me again?”

Julian Grant laughed, “How could that be? You think this lock is voice-activated? Since it’s locked, it probably means we need to trigger another plot point to open it. Let’s look around some more.”

Before The Vault could say anything, that familiar unlocking sound rang out again, and the previously unmoving wooden door swung open halfway on its own.

Julian Grant: “…??”

Little genius? Why are you cheating in my company?

The Vault laughed and said, “Thanks, tech guy.”

Chapter 63: Talent

After The Vault entered the room, she immediately understood why the tech staff from Trident had opened the door for her so easily. This room probably had nothing directly to do with Thomas Daniels’s death.

Most of the furniture in the room was covered with white dust cloths, and judging by the dust accumulated on them, the items had been here for years. The wooden floor was also covered with a thick layer of gray dust, with no footprints at all, proving this area was very “clean” and had been untouched for a long time.

The Vault walked further in, lifted a cloth, and found a blue children’s bed underneath. Next to it was a small blue wooden cabinet.

No wonder the furniture here was all small-sized; these must have been used by Thomas Daniels’s son when he was young.

Near the door, the arrangement became messy, with a few slightly damaged toys piled up. It looked like the room had been turned into a storage space.

Julian Grant wiped a finger along the wall and said in puzzlement, “Why would a children’s room be locked? The bedroom isn’t locked, but this long-unused children’s room is.”

“Maybe there’s just too much stuff and they don’t want to tidy it up, like how a lot of people never clean under their beds.” The Vault said, “Besides, if there are often kids visiting the house, I’d want to weld the front door shut.”

Julian Grant: “……” That’s exactly why your image keeps getting weirder.

He gave The Vault a complicated look, but she had already turned and left.

Julian Grant followed The Vault upstairs, walking along the staircase.

Sunroom, open-air flower terrace, home theater. None of these rooms had any important information.

When they reached a bedroom, The Vault stopped again.

In front of them was Thomas Daniels’s son’s bedroom.

The young man’s room was very tidy, the quilt neatly spread on the bed, and there was a faint scent of laundry detergent in the air.

His son probably boarded at school and didn’t come home often; the room had been cleaned and wasn’t lived in.

The Vault walked over to the desk and picked up a notebook to flip through. The young man’s name was written on it: Xavier Daniels.

Julian Grant looked up at the wooden shelf on the side of the desk and muttered, “There are so many photos in his room.”

The Vault looked over.

Xavier Daniels was a gentle and shy-looking young man. His features were non-threatening, his slightly long bangs covered his eyes, his hair was soft with a hint of warm yellow, and overall he fit the image of a top student—like the nice guy every class has.

His photos were neatly arranged, stacked layer by layer on the wooden shelf, and from their content, you could almost see his entire growth process.

He attended City No. 13 Middle School for both junior and senior high, got into C University for college, and is now a graduate student at C University. He was a student council leader at school and a student representative at graduation. He learned the flute and won national awards. He also studied math olympiad and participated in national competitions in high school.

Every time Xavier Daniels won an award, Thomas Daniels would take a photo with him, holding the trophy and smiling happily. It showed that Thomas Daniels was very proud of his son.

As she glanced over several of the school photos, The Vault felt a faint sense of unease. Her gaze drifted for a moment, then quickly moved on, finally looking away.

The Vault asked, “Do guys usually display these kinds of photos at home?”

“Not really, I think?” Julian Grant hesitated. “My parents keep them in albums, but in my room, at most there’s a family photo. None of my buddies really display that many photos at home either. But maybe it’s just personal preference? Don’t girls’ rooms also have lots of art photos?”

“Oh.” The Vault spaced out. “Really? I don’t have a single photo.”

Julian Grant: “……”

Julian Grant racked his brains and said, “Having them on your phone is the same.”

The Vault lowered her head and opened the drawer in front of her, only to find it was a snack compartment. She rummaged through it and found, besides chips and marinated snacks, a few familiar orange-flavored hard candies.

·

Off-screen, several people were watching The Vault’s storyline unfold. After hearing The Vault’s question, they started to feel that the normal details they’d previously ignored were now strangely unsettling, and began whispering among themselves.

“Is it really that weird for a guy to have a few photos in his room? Tough guys have their hobbies, pretty boys have theirs.”

“Guys can be narcissistic too, right? This is just a kind of quiet vanity.”

“The Vault probably just hasn’t taken any photos herself and hit a knowledge blind spot, so she asked casually?”

Henry Harris’s steady, powerful voice slowly came from his lips, firm and commanding, immediately quieting the discussion.

“We need to learn to extract useful information from any fragments we find at the scene, including evidence or traces directly related to the case, as well as clues that help you build a profile of the victim or those around them. While profiling can’t serve as definitive evidence, it can assist your reasoning and judgment about the case, and might just become the key to solving it.”

Upon hearing this, Quinn Shelby’s tightly furrowed brow twitched, and only then did she start to pay attention to the photos that had just flashed by on the screen.