She was clearly so cooperative, but Julian Grant always felt that she was thinking about some strange and nonsensical things, so much so that her windows to the soul were filled with lewdness. Yet her expression was so innocent that it made Julian Grant suspect that the truly indecent one was actually himself.

He helplessly raised his hand to wipe his face, remembering that he was still holding something, and made a final attempt to salvage the situation: “Look, what’s this?”

The Vault glanced at it, not very willing to cooperate, and said, “Wow... is this a document?”

Julian Grant was choked by her words, feeling several heart attacks. That familiar feeling of heartache actually brought his wandering intelligence back. He simply used a not-so-clever trick to change the subject.

“I didn’t find anything useful. How about you?”

The Vault shook her head regretfully. “Nothing here either. There are a lot of medical books in the study, all covered in dust, which shows that Sean Hall doesn’t clean often, and certainly doesn’t read them. The rest... nothing special.”

Julian Grant thought for a moment and then said, “I didn’t find anything related to Sean Hall’s love life, but I did find a few of Rachel Thornton’s drawings. Do you want to take a look?”

The items were found by Julian Grant in the storage room. They should be drawings Rachel Thornton did as a child, each one sealed in plastic and neatly arranged. Because they were well preserved, the paper wasn’t damaged, only the colors had faded a bit.

The one on top showed a little girl holding hands with a woman in a white dress, standing outdoors. An old and elegant wooden house, scattered white flowers, bright sunshine, and lush woods. There were also deep mountain paths and winding streams nearby—a scene of tranquil, pastoral life.

The Vault flipped through a few more. Other than witnessing Rachel Thornton’s increasingly mature drawing skills, she found nothing else, so she put them back one by one.

Julian Grant saw she was done and got ready to take the drawings, holding the edges of the paper, but The Vault didn’t let go.

“Hey?” Julian Grant thought she’d found something, so he crouched down and asked quietly, “What’s wrong?”

The Vault stared at the drawing in front of her, her brows slightly furrowed, as if trying hard to recall something. However, after searching her memory twice, she came up empty, and finally shook her head, handing the drawings back to him.

Julian Grant straightened the drawing, looked at it a couple more times, and asked in confusion, “Is there something wrong with this picture?”

“No, it’s just that the scene looks a bit familiar.” The Vault thought maybe she was being too sensitive. “Maybe it’s just the kind of scenery described in fairy tale books.”

A little wooden house in the forest—a very common theme. Kids like to draw all the beautiful elements of the forest, so there was nothing strange about the content. At first glance, The Vault didn’t pay much attention, but on the second look, her gaze lingered for two more seconds.

She couldn’t even figure out the reason herself. Maybe it was just some detail in the picture that gave her that illusion.

Julian Grant muttered suspiciously, “Really?”

The Vault said, “Yeah, it’s fine. I’ve memorized the details. You can put it back.”

Julian Grant put the drawings back in the box and closed the storage room door.

Henry Harris came out from the balcony, shook his head at the two of them, indicating that things weren’t going well on his end either. He then took the document from Julian Grant’s hand, saying he’d go back and organize the materials to see if there was any connection between them.

Julian Grant said in disappointment, “We’ve got nothing at all.”

After he spoke and got no response, he realized that The Vault was staring intently at Rachel Thornton on the sofa. After a moment, she quietly said three words: “Not necessarily.”

“Rachel Thornton.”

The Vault didn’t walk over. She called out from more than two meters away.

Rachel Thornton was startled to hear her name, and instantly felt a chill crawl up her spine, making her sit up straight instinctively.

Her gaze passed through the gap between the counters, looking at The Vault. Even though there was still some distance between them, she still felt uneasy.

“You said the love poems your mother received—what happened to them later?”

Rachel Thornton had a deep sense of foreboding, so strong that she refused to face anything. Her intuition told her that sometimes ignorance is a blessing. She was already at the edge of the abyss and couldn’t go any further.

“I don’t know.” Rachel Thornton thought her voice could sound calm, but the very first word betrayed her anger.

“I don’t know.” She slowed her tone and repeated.

“You didn’t keep anything?” The Vault’s voice was steady, but to Rachel Thornton every word felt sharp. “When your mother dealt with those things, didn’t you feel it was a pity and keep something? Or do you remember any details about those gifts?”

Rachel Thornton couldn’t hold back anymore, her emotions bursting out like a flood. She loudly interrupted The Vault, retorting, “What about you? Don’t you have any empathy at all?”

The Vault stopped talking. Rachel Thornton continued in a breakdown, “I don’t want to investigate this anymore. Let it end, I’m begging you. I don’t want to know about my mom’s past, not at all! And stop trying to prove how disgraceful my family is, or asking me to provide so-called evidence. Haven’t you had enough? Don’t you think this is absurd?!”

Julian Grant had no interest in bullying a young girl, but he really agreed with The Vault’s assessment of her as “naive.”

Several police officers working nearby all stopped and looked at the two, tense and ready to clash. They exchanged glances but didn’t know how to defuse the situation.

The Vault said with a laugh, “Empathy?”

Rachel Thornton shot to her feet, agitated. “What’s so funny about that? Do you know what it feels like to lose both loving parents? I’m already exhausted. I just want to believe they were perfect in my heart—is that so wrong?”

“I really don’t know.” The Vault said coldly. “By the time I learned to analyze emotions, they were already gone.”

Rachel Thornton’s chest heaved violently, and she let out two dry laughs. “You never experienced it, so you’re better off than me. At least you don’t have to be so sad.”

“I don’t know what nonsense you’re talking about.”

The Vault walked around the cabinet to stand face-to-face with Rachel Thornton. Her expression was dark, her gaze fixed on Rachel Thornton as if to bury her.

“Yes, I never experienced loving parents, but how do you know the pain of never having had them? You want to escape, you can regret, you can pretend to know nothing, let all these people comfort you, and wait for them to give you answers. Do you think everyone can live as well as you, never having to face reality and still get by? Little sister, if you were twelve, I’d let you off today. But you’re already twenty. You’re past the age where you can be fearlessly naive. Isn’t it time to wake up?”

The Vault pointed at the police officers nearby. “Do you think these people without empathy are working overtime here, staying up all night, having nightmares, and earning meager wages just to make things harder for you? Just to dig into your parents’ relationships? Do you know what duty means? Can your precious empathy, untouched by reality, redeem all the evil in the world and maintain social order? Then why don’t you use your empathy to save Harry Forrest? Are you giving up on your ally now?”

Rachel Thornton swallowed hard, squatted down with her head in her hands, and covered her ears.

The Vault lifted her chin, her half-closed eyes gazing deeply at her, her steps slow but irresistibly approaching.

“Let me tell you, when I was your age, I was brought to the police station for questioning again and again because a student committed murder. Your empathy is useless to me. I can’t just stand by and watch more and more people die, then let the murderer stand in front of me, point at my nose, and say, ‘Look! They died because of you!’ What kind of empathy is that? That’s called selfishness.”

Rachel Thornton’s thin back trembled.

The Vault’s black shoe tips were less than twenty centimeters from her. Each cold, hard word fell like a hammer.

“Did you, or didn’t you? Answer me.”

Rachel Thornton’s breathing was erratic, her teeth biting her lips hard, her stubbornness and emotions clashing inside, but she still didn’t dare look up at The Vault.

“Everything was burned. She said she didn’t want to be reminded of the past.” She squeezed her eyes shut, sobbing, her voice muffled. “...I secretly kept one, tucked it in my elementary school Chinese textbook...”

Julian Grant was the first to react, immediately rushing to the storage room and digging through several boxes stacked against the wall, pulling out Rachel Thornton’s elementary school textbooks.

Henry Harris followed to help search.

Soon, a piece of pink card stock fell out from between the pages.

“This is it!”

It was a pink card, with a short poem written in black ink, unsigned. In the corner, Rachel Thornton had drawn a few hearts, adding her own little touch.