“There’s nothing else, really. I’ve always been very curious, as you know.”

……

“I want to know, why was The Vault’s brain injured in the first place? When did her brain function start to change? Why does she seem to avoid talking about it, never mentioning it to anyone? Also, does she have a strong fear of the dark? To be honest, I also find it a bit strange that she insisted on living her own way as a child—what exactly was she resisting?”

A deep, resonant male voice sounded from the speaker: “The Vault doesn’t have an excessively strong fear of the dark. She can function normally at night; her emotions are within the normal range, so most people don’t realize she’s actually afraid of the dark. But nighttime, combined with certain other factors, can trigger a stress response in her.”

Quinn Foster pondered, “Then…”

The person on the other end said, “Many psychological issues stem from childhood traumas. It’s just that The Vault has never been very proactive about healing from this kind of illness.”

Quinn Foster asked, “Why?”

“Why indeed?” the other person sighed. “Because human emotions are contradictory and complex…”

·

On Wednesday, Quinn Foster put on a crisp suit and drove to the police station.

Henry Harris was waiting in the meeting room right on time and sent him the room number. Her team members were already in place.

After long hours of overtime, everyone finally had a rare chance to slack off. They were in high spirits, slouching lazily in wooden chairs, dozing off, playing on their phones, or chatting quietly. They didn’t have strong feelings about whether The Vault would join them—after all, none of them knew her before, so they were indifferent.

Quinn Shelby sat in the corner, looking grim and silent, clearly not in the right state of mind.

Henry Harris opened the file in front of her, holding a pen and clicking it with a crisp sound.

Quinn Shelby raised his hand to check the time, only to hear Henry Harris say, “Don’t rush.”

Quinn Shelby put his hand down again.

Henry Harris raised her voice, seemingly addressing everyone, but actually speaking to Quinn Shelby.

“Today is the last chance. If anyone has questions, ask them now. If we end up working together smoothly, I won’t allow suspicion or exclusion within the team.”

“Is that necessary?” Quinn Shelby couldn’t help but say, “Is a meeting like this really meaningful? How much can a psychological assessment actually prove?”

Henry Harris looked at him and said, “Whether it’s meaningful or not, we’ll know after we talk. If everyone states their reasoning, but someone is stubborn without reason, that’s called prejudice. Our profession doesn’t allow for that kind of prejudice.”

Everyone quieted down and turned their attention this way. But the two of them fell silent.

A team member shrugged and made a sheepish face.

Before long, the person they were waiting for arrived.

Quinn Foster pushed the door open and, seeing a row of officers waiting for him, smiled and said, “Hello, everyone. Such a lively crowd—hope this isn’t a Hongmen Banquet.”

He didn’t wait for a greeting, just picked a seat away from the others and sat down.

Being stared at by a row of police officers would make any ordinary person uncomfortable, but Quinn Foster still wore a cheeky grin and said, “Where do you want to start the process? Normally, my consultation fees are quite high, but I can make an exception for you this time. However, I won’t tolerate any baseless accusations or slander. And if it involves unnecessary privacy, I won’t answer.”

Henry Harris said, “Let’s wait a bit longer.”

“Who else?” Quinn Foster spread his hands. “Is this a big conference?”

Henry Harris: “The head of Trident, also our consulting partner.”

Quinn Foster: “Oh.”

Not long after, another person came in.

Sure enough, it was Julian Grant.

He saw Quinn Foster and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Their eyes met, and the confusion in Julian Grant’s gaze deepened.

Quinn Foster said, “Mr. Grant, we meet again.”

Julian Grant smiled, “Is there some major announcement? So many people showed up.”

He also picked a seat with no one on either side, sitting between Henry Harris and Quinn Foster.

“Since everyone’s here, let’s begin.” Henry Harris said, “We’ve gathered today to conduct another psychological assessment of The Vault.”

Julian Grant didn’t look very pleased at this, glancing at Quinn Shelby and saying, “Isn’t this… a bit inappropriate? The Vault isn’t a suspect, and there’s no possibility she committed a crime.”

Henry Harris: “It’s my request.”

Julian Grant was about to speak when Quinn Foster interjected, “It’s also The Vault’s request.”

Julian Grant fell silent.

Quinn Foster said gleefully, “What’s wrong? She didn’t tell you?”

Julian Grant replied, “What does it matter if she did or didn’t? I’m going to find out anyway. She can’t possibly report everything she does to me, can she? Waste of words.”

Quinn Foster said with a provoking look, “But your face says you’re not happy.”

Julian Grant: “I have a poker face, got it?”

Quinn Foster: “Understood.”

Henry Harris ignored their bickering and said, “I hope to have The Vault join our team and investigate together. Before that, it’s best to clear up any misunderstandings between us.”

She pulled two files from her folder. “These are the records of The Vault we investigated earlier.”

She handed the files to the people on either side. Quinn Foster didn’t take his, while Julian Grant suspiciously opened his and glanced through it.

Quinn Foster said, “If you’re questioning my abilities, I don’t agree. Let me reiterate: my psychological assessment report is truthful and reliable, but I don’t think all of a client’s privacy should be included in a file.”

“I have no objection to your professional requirements,” Henry Harris gestured. “Aren’t you going to look?”

“No need, I know already.” Quinn Foster was very calm. “I also know what you want to ask.”

Julian Grant was halfway through reading, feeling a wave of oppressive shock at the concise descriptions, and looked up at these words.

Quinn Foster’s expression grew serious. He clasped his hands and placed them on the table.

“Since everyone’s time is valuable, let’s skip the irrelevant preamble. I’ll answer your question about The Vault’s post-traumatic stress disorder first.”

Henry Harris nodded, and Julian Grant also put down his file for the moment, waiting for him to speak.

Quinn Foster said, “You all probably know that The Vault’s mother, Kevin Quinn, died when she was about six. Before her death, Ms. Quinn became mentally unstable after the blow of her husband’s passing, and struggled to care for The Vault on her own. But she always resisted help from others and distanced herself from all relatives connected to her husband.”

“I understand the hardship and pressure of a woman raising a child alone. In the process of raising The Vault, she did use some inappropriate and unreasonable methods, even to the point of being called extreme protection. But I believe she truly wanted to take good care of The Vault. When she was lucid, she still fulfilled part of her responsibilities as a mother.”

“The cause of Ms. Quinn’s death, according to the police report, was suicide. Before she died, she used a wooden ornament to strike The Vault on the head, then left her alone at home and walked out, slamming the door. The Vault didn’t actually lose consciousness at the time—she remained awake for a long time, just unable to call for help. She crawled from the living room to the door, and after holding on for twelve hours, was finally rescued and taken for treatment by the police.”

A few people around them drew in sharp breaths.

Even though they already knew about this experience, when the plain words were described as a vivid scene and appeared in their minds, they still felt an unprecedented sadness—a completely different kind of impact.

“Twelve hours is an excessively long time. For any adult, being immobilized in the dark for twelve hours would not be easy to endure.”

Quinn Foster’s voice was like a gently flowing river, very calm. Yet those low, deep syllables stirred up a storm in everyone’s hearts.

“She was still very young then, but her intelligence was much more mature than an average six-year-old. She wasn’t so naïve—she knew what she was facing.”

Julian Grant lowered his gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His fingers clenched tightly on his knees, wrinkling the fabric of his pants.

He wanted Quinn Foster to continue, but also wanted him to stop. Yet not listening, not looking, not asking, didn’t mean it never happened. His resistance couldn’t change the fact that The Vault had gone through this.

What could she have done at the time? Did she count the seconds, staring at the doorknob, waiting for her mother to return?

Quinn Foster: “No one but The Vault knows the exact details of that day. She chose to keep it hidden. But as a child—alone, in the dark, seriously injured, in pain, hurt by her mother, waiting endlessly, hovering on the edge of life and death—since then, she’s suffered from PTSD. That’s understandable, right?”

Everyone in the meeting room was unusually silent.