Her heartbeat began to pound violently due to lack of oxygen, but her mind remained clear. When the man ran to about a meter away from her, she seized the right angle and kicked out.

Although this drug addict was very strong, his mind was already muddled and his control over his body was clumsy. He was thrown down solidly by her move. His reactions were truly sluggish—whether it was due to long-term drug use or an overdose this time was unclear. Even when his face hit the ground, he didn’t raise his hands to protect himself, just clung desperately to his weapon.

Bystanders saw him fall and were eager to step forward to help subdue him, but the man quickly got up, wildly waving his short knife and shouting incoherent phrases that no one could understand, scaring the crowd back again.

In the last two words he roared, The Vault recognized it—he was calling her name.

So this really wasn’t... a disaster out of nowhere.

The Vault saw an opportunity and kicked at his knee again, making him stagger. Unfortunately, she wasn’t very strong; the physical difference between genders was obvious. She even felt like she wasn’t fighting a person, but a zombie.

The onlookers grew anxious, but, afraid of the weapon in the man’s hand and his clearly unstable mental state, they hesitated and didn’t dare approach, only shouting from the sidelines, “Run! Run!”

The Vault thought to herself, if she could run, would she still be lying here?

Two consecutive failures completely enraged the assailant, making him even more deranged.

The Vault pressed her neck, trying to stand up. The blood that had been stuck in her throat finally spurted out with her movement, along with stomach acid, burning her airway with sharp pain.

The Vault vomited until her vision went black, thinking self-mockingly that her epitaph would soon read “died young,” already prepared to see her life flash before her eyes—when she heard a dull thud, and the middle-aged man collapsed in front of her.

Someone nearby cheered loudly, “Nice!”

Footsteps sounded in a jumble as bystanders rushed forward to help subdue him.

From The Vault’s angle, she could only see a pair of Martin boots belonging to the helpful citizen. He stomped hard on the middle-aged man’s hand, forcing him to release the knife, then quickly kicked the weapon away.

The knife happened to land right in front of The Vault. She reached out to pick it up, but a pair of pale hands beat her to it.

The owner of the white canvas shoes picked up the knife, stopped not far from her, and shouted, “Hurry up and go!”

Judging by the voice, it was a girl, seemingly calling out to the person who had just helped her.

The Vault turned her head, following the light and shadows, her vision blurry. She blinked hard, squeezing out the tears in her eyes, and saw a backlit man standing in the middle of the crowd.

He wore a baseball cap, the brim pulled low to cover half his face. The line of his jaw was sharp in the sunlight, and his tense lips made him look rather stern.

—Harry Forrest!

That familiar silhouette instantly overlapped with the half-face in The Vault’s memory.

Although she hadn’t met Harry Forrest many times, she was certain it was him. He seemed to have changed a bit since they last met—his demeanor was steadier, and a bit gloomier.

“Harry Forrest...” The Vault breathed out, so softly even she couldn’t hear herself, “You’re still in A City?”

Harry Forrest didn’t look at her, hesitated for a moment, then turned and ran off.

The Vault immediately wanted to chase after him, but was stopped by the girl behind her. The girl grabbed her arms and lowered her head to ask, “Are you okay?”

The Vault watched the figure disappear and shook her head.

When Julian Grant arrived, The Vault was trying to get up from the ground. There was a red mark around her neck, the imprint of five fingers clearly visible. Her face was frighteningly pale, and her hands and feet were trembling slightly.

Her skin was already on the pale side, making the red mark look especially gruesome.

Julian Grant rushed over and supported her with one hand. The Vault turned her head to glance at him, giving him a grateful look. Feeling unwell, she raised her hand to cover her neck and coughed silently, trying to clear the soreness from her throat.

Julian Grant pried her hand away and, seeing her injuries up close, his gaze grew even colder. At the front of the five distinct finger marks, there were also a few nail gouges, the skin broken and oozing blood, showing just how ruthless the attacker had been.

Julian Grant tightened his arm, half-hugging her.

Soon, the Trident security guards who had come to help search, along with the on-duty police officers, arrived. Seeing the middle-aged man pinned to the ground, suffering from drug withdrawal, they gritted their teeth and cursed, “He’s really lost it!”

Just looking at the sores on the man’s body, it was clear he was a long-time addict. Some of the officers recognized him and showed no kindness, roughly handcuffing him and dragging him away.

A young officer came over and asked nervously, “How is she? Do you need us to take her to the hospital?”

Julian Grant said, “No need, I have a car. Come on.”

The Vault followed him, but every movement made her breathing irregular, and every deep breath hurt her throat. The aftereffects still hadn’t passed. Seeing how uncomfortable she was, Julian Grant simply picked her up, nodded to the others as a greeting, and quickly turned to leave.

The Vault wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. Through his jacket, she listened to his strong heartbeat. She looked up and, from Julian Grant’s stern expression, sensed his suppressed anger. She tugged at his hair, but Julian Grant didn’t react.

Julian Grant carried her straight to the front passenger seat. As soon as he closed the door, the back door was pulled open and a dark figure slipped in—the girl who had been standing next to The Vault had followed them.

Julian Grant opened his mouth to speak, but, having no time to waste on her, simply ignored her and sped off toward the hospital.

At the hospital, after getting X-rays and a thorough checkup, the doctor confirmed there was no danger to her life. Only then did the murderous look on Julian Grant’s face ease a little. But every time he glanced at The Vault, he would tense up again.

Although The Vault couldn’t speak, her spirits were still high. She insisted on enjoying the pleasure of oxygen therapy, and, persuaded by money, the doctor agreed.

So Julian Grant watched helplessly as The Vault lay in bed studying the two thin oxygen tubes, finally having time to pay attention to the girl who had been silently standing in the corner.

The girl was dressed simply in a T-shirt and white sneakers, looking like an unassuming college student, probably around twenty, with a determined look in her eyes.

Sensing Julian Grant’s gaze, The Vault tugged at his sleeve. Once she had his attention, she started gesturing.

She pointed at the girl, then at herself, drew a line across her neck, and finally gave a thumbs-up.

Julian Grant: “...” Sorry, he didn’t get her meaning at all.

Julian Grant turned to the girl and asked, “Did you save her?”

The girl shook her head, her voice clear and bright: “It was someone else.”

Julian Grant was about to speak when his sleeve was tugged again. He looked down to see The Vault pointing at herself emphatically.

Julian Grant couldn’t help but say, “Is it that our technology doesn’t allow tablets or paper and pen? I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

The Vault: “Tsk.” That sound, at least, came out clearly.

The Vault grabbed a tablet, typed a sentence, and had it read aloud.

“You don’t understand the joy of spiritual communication.”

Julian Grant: “How come you still have such a twisted sense of humor even when you can’t talk?”

The Vault tapped the screen, and the tablet emitted a string of mechanical “cluck cluck cluck” laughter.

Julian Grant: “...”

The laughter kept going, making the atmosphere feel almost comical.

“My name is Rachel Thornton,” the girl across from them said.

The Vault typed: Don’t know you.

Julian Grant shook his head as well.

Rachel Thornton said, “My father is Harold Thornton.”

Clearly, neither of them recognized the name.

Rachel Thornton tried to stay calm, though she wasn’t very good at controlling her emotions.

“He was a doctor. Over ten years ago, he was first accused of sexual assault, then killed in a car crash by a disgruntled patient. When he died, the hospital’s investigation wasn’t finished, so even in death, he carried a stigma. The person who maliciously accused him got a payout, and the killer only served a year in prison. The price they paid was negligible, maybe no price at all. Only my father died without justice!”

Julian Grant said, “Miss, what exactly are you trying to say?”

Rachel Thornton: “The person who accused him of sexual assault back then was Meredith Stone.”

The name Meredith Stone finally rang a bell for the two of them. She was one of the witnesses who had identified Harry Forrest back then, and also the second witness to die.

Julian Grant sat down by the bed without changing his expression and asked, “Why are you telling us this?”

Rachel Thornton said, “Aren’t you Trident people investigating Harry Forrest’s case? I want you to make this into a side case too, and clear my father’s name!”