The content of this modern poem is gentle and subtle; it’s not a straightforward love poem. If it weren’t for Rachel Thornton accidentally letting something slip, even if they saw it with their own eyes, they wouldn’t have connected it to anything else.

Henry Harris had studied all the evidence for this case, and of course had also seen Harold Thornton’s handwriting. At a glance, this card didn’t seem to be written by the same person, as the penmanship was quite different.

“It’s a fountain pen.” Although Henry Harris’s tone was calm, the excitement she couldn’t suppress still showed at the corners of her mouth. “Not many people use fountain pens to write these days, and this person clearly has signs of training. Maybe someone in a related field could recognize it.”

For months, the suffocating pressure had hung over everyone, but now, finally catching a glimpse of hope, they all felt a sudden sense of relief. A few impatient officers almost cried out in excitement.

Henry Harris nodded at The Vault, carefully placed the card into an evidence bag, and handed it to the forensic technician nearby.

The Vault crouched down, gently patted Rachel Thornton on the back, and praised, “Nicely done.”

Chapter 104 – First Update

The Vault’s way of giving praise was just like her name—sometimes sunny, sometimes stormy, impossible to predict.

In Julian Grant’s private opinion, the phrase “nicely done” had already taken on a subtle meaning through widespread use online, and wasn’t really suitable as a word of comfort.

He put his arm around The Vault, leading her away from Rachel Thornton to avoid further upsetting the already fragile girl.

The scene had basically been searched, and by rights Henry Harris could have led the team to wrap up, but given the current situation, she didn’t dare leave Rachel Thornton alone at home.

She didn’t have many female officers under her—most were rough men—and since Rachel Thornton was a girl, it wasn’t really appropriate. In the middle of the night, she couldn’t find a suitable person, so she figured she’d have to stay herself tonight.

Henry Harris shot Julian Grant a look, signaling for the two of them to go home and rest first. Julian Grant, seeing how late it was, took The Vault and prepared to leave, saying at last, “Contact us if you need anything.”

Henry Harris walked over and quietly said at the door, “Find a reliable psychologist and have them come early tomorrow.”

Julian Grant agreed, “Okay. I’ll have someone contact her at seven in the morning to come and take over for you.”

As he spoke, he glanced again at Rachel Thornton, who still hadn’t calmed down. Henry Harris noticed his gaze and smiled, “The flowers of our nation still need to be cared for. Good night.”

Henry Harris closed the door, raised her hand to rub her face hard, and then let out a long breath.

She opened her eyes, looked at the people still waiting for instructions in the room, waved her hand for them to tidy up the scene, and led Rachel Thornton to her own room.

To Henry Harris, waiting until seven in the morning felt like a long time. She was eager to rush back to the station and get to work, convinced she could keep going for another 48 hours straight. Every time there was a major breakthrough in a case, she’d get this feeling of being reborn.

But her subordinates didn’t quite feel the same.

After the excitement and high pressure, came a strong emptiness in their stomachs.

When Henry Harris came out of the room, several officers were sitting in a row, their faces full of exhaustion and pitifulness, carefully asking, “Captain He, can we have a bowl of instant noodles first?”

Seeing this, Henry Harris couldn’t help but laugh. “Go ahead. Just remember to air out the smell when you’re done.”

“Yay!”

A few of them cheered quietly, took out their own instant noodles and sausages, and started on this belated midnight snack.

A young officer placed a cup of freshly made noodles in front of her, saying eagerly, “Captain He, this is for you.”

Henry Harris lifted the lid and stirred the noodles, saying casually, “After you finish eating, go back and write your reports.”

Everyone’s faces froze, and they looked up in horror, wailing, “No way?!”

Henry Harris frowned, “What’s wrong? Have you compared the evidence? Found the suspect? You haven’t even confirmed the target and you’re already slacking off?”

They protested shyly, “It’s just that it’s almost 1 a.m. now… everyone’s really tired.”

Only then did Henry Harris belatedly check her phone and realize the time really wasn’t ideal. That’s the tough part about working in criminal investigation—sometimes your life isn’t worth much, especially for those at the grassroots. Henry Harris softened her tone and approved, “Finish eating and go home to rest. Report in on time tomorrow. Get through these two days and you’ll get some time off.”

Human happiness is really that simple. The young officers immediately brightened, quickly finished their noodles, tidied up the scene, and took the collected evidence back.

Henry Harris reminded them, “Drive carefully.”

“Got it!”

·

From the door to the car, The Vault remained very calm. She felt her mood was peaceful, not particularly stirred by this small discovery. Yet there was a strange heat lingering around her, which even the cool late autumn night breeze couldn’t dispel.

As soon as The Vault rolled down the car window, Julian Grant rolled it back up. She waited a bit, then stubbornly opened a small crack again to let the breeze blow on her clever little head.

“Don’t mess around.” Julian Grant rolled the window up again, scolding, “You got caught in the rain today, and it’s so cold—why are you letting the wind in?”

The Vault: “……” So bullied.

She sat quietly in the car all the way home, and by the time they arrived, it was already 1:30 a.m.

Neither of them had eaten since their awkward lunch that afternoon. Now, standing at the quiet doorway, they were both plagued by life’s three great choices.

Julian Grant hesitated for a moment, then went to his room to shower. The Vault took off her coat and went into the kitchen.

When Julian Grant entered the bathroom, his mind was a bit foggy, and only after showering did he realize he hadn’t brought his pajamas. Since it was just his own bedroom outside, he didn’t care much, so he just towel-dried his hair and walked out.

As the bathroom door opened, hot steam rushed out and was met by the cool air outside. Julian Grant’s nose twitched, catching a whiff of what seemed to be spicy chili oil in the air.

His dazed mind didn’t quite process it, so he pushed the door wide open and walked out.

His view immediately widened, and Julian Grant finally saw The Vault sitting at his windowsill eating a late-night snack. She turned at the sound, and their eyes met.

The air was dead silent.

Julian Grant’s mind went completely blank, until The Vault looked him up and down with a teasing gaze and made a gesture at him, snapping him out of his daze.

Julian Grant took one, two steps back, and with a loud “bang,” slammed the door shut.

The Vault was startled by the noise. From behind the door came Julian Grant’s embarrassed and angry shout: “You came in without knocking! Are you a pervert or what?!”

Julian Grant rummaged through his things and finally found a brand new bathrobe in a storage compartment in the corner. He shook it out, got ready to put it on, and checked himself in the mirror first.

The man in the mirror had a handsome face and a strong build, broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist, with hardly any extra fat.

Not bad—definitely way above the “pervert” standard. The Vault was the one committing a crime here.

Julian Grant stroked his chin and put on the bathrobe.

He stormed out, only to find The Vault still calmly eating noodles, as if nothing had happened.

Julian Grant walked over, braced one hand on the windowsill, and leaned down, saying, “You think it’s over just like that?”

The Vault turned her head, thought for a moment, and whistled at him.

Julian Grant was so angry he grabbed her ear.

See! The Vault thought. She knew it! It’s best to just let awkward things pass, why bring them up again?

People who dredge up old issues are never up to any good.

The Vault said innocently, “I did call out, but you didn’t hear me. I was holding a plate, so I just came in.”

Julian Grant said, “That’s because your voice isn’t loud enough!”

The Vault nodded in agreement. No problem, that’s just a fact.

Then Julian Grant thought for a moment, feeling something was off, and asked, “Don’t you have… any thoughts about it?”

The Vault stared at him, scrutinized him deeply, and thought that Q-ge wasn’t just impure, but also unreliable, actually trying to take advantage of the situation.

The Vault said, “Don’t worry, we’re all adults here, and I’m a responsible person.”

A hint of surprise flashed in Julian Grant’s eyes, and he encouraged her to continue.

The Vault seemed to understand, reassuring him, “I’ll look at it from an academic perspective, like a mature person, and simply see the human body as a lump of meat.”

Julian Grant’s expression shifted through a rainbow of colors—what a show. He forced out a sentence: “Get out! My eight-pack abs are just a lump of meat to you?!”

The Vault hesitated, “Then… eight lumps of meat?”

Julian Grant was so mad he stomped his foot. “Why don’t you just add them all up into one?!”

The Vault replied slowly, “No need to get so worked up.”

Julian Grant said darkly, “I’ll give you one more chance. Say it again.”

For the first time, The Vault found herself at a loss for words over how many “lumps of meat” a human body has.