She reached out and gently touched The Vault's head, but quickly withdrew her hand. Her age-spotted hands fell onto the soft quilt, trembling uncontrollably.

The Vault grabbed her hand, wrapping her cold fingertips in her palm, and asked, “Does Uncle Campbell not get angry very often?”

Ms. Steele countered, “Have you ever seen him angry?”

The Vault racked her brains to recall, then said with a hint of surprise as if she’d discovered something, “It seems I really haven’t, but I am the younger generation.”

“Sometimes he does get angry, it depends on whether he cares or not.” Ms. Steele answered vaguely, trying to steer the topic away quickly. “Where are you working now?”

The Vault told her a mix of truth and fiction. After all, Ms. Steele was old and her mind wasn’t as quick, and she had no wariness toward The Vault, basically answering every question except for a few sensitive ones she avoided.

The Vault didn’t want to arouse her suspicion, so whenever the conversation touched on something awkward, she didn’t press further.

The two chatted harmoniously for about half an hour. The Vault took out her phone to check the time and said regretfully, “It’s getting late, I have to go back. I’ll come see you again next time.”

Ms. Steele opened her mouth in disappointment, trying hard to sit up, glanced at the wall clock, and said, “Stay a little longer, it’s my day off today, Evan should be coming by.”

Mentioning her own son, she suddenly realized the generational confusion and couldn’t stop laughing at herself: “My son should actually be your Uncle Campbell, and Leonard is already your grandfather’s generation.”

The Vault replied indifferently, “It doesn’t matter. When I see Uncle Campbell, I usually just call him ‘Professor’, he won’t notice.”

Ms. Steele seemed to find this especially funny and couldn’t stop laughing, perhaps because she was in a good mood. Elderly people often get happy over the strangest things.

The Vault tucked in her quilt for her, whispered a few words, and turned to leave.

As she reached the doorway, her path was blocked by a dark figure.

It turned out to be Zachary Campbell returning.

The man almost bumped into her, instinctively stepped back to put some distance between them, and was momentarily stunned when he saw her. Then he greeted her kindly, “Is that... The Vault? What brings you here?”

He wore gold-rimmed glasses and had inherited Leonard Campbell’s handsome looks, with a scholarly air about him. But unlike Leonard Campbell, he hadn’t pursued an academic career, instead choosing to start his own business.

The Vault didn’t know much about his personality or situation. Before Kevin Quinn died, The Vault had met him a few times, but she was too young then to remember much. After that, he never appeared again.

This was the first time The Vault really took notice of his presence.

Zachary Campbell pushed up his glasses, then tried to pat The Vault on the shoulder. Facing this man who was half a head taller than herself, The Vault subtly turned her body to avoid him, and pointed inside at Ms. Steele, saying, “I heard someone say Auntie was ill, and since I happened to be passing by, I came to check in.”

Inside, Ms. Steele heard the commotion and called out, “Evan!”

The Vault made a gesture of invitation: “I have something to do, so I won’t disturb you.”

Zachary Campbell withdrew his hand. “Alright.”

After leaving the ward, The Vault stopped by the restroom.

She placed her hands under the sensor, splashed cold water on her face, and sorted through the information she’d just gathered in her mind.

The gentle liquid struck her face, taking away the surface warmth of her skin. Her heart pounded even harder from holding her breath, and her brain began to spin faster as blood flowed vigorously.

A moment later, the sound of running water stopped. The Vault raised her head, opened her bloodshot eyes, and took deep breaths. At the same time, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a dark figure behind her in the mirror.

The Vault’s back instantly stiffened, every hair on her body standing on end. Looking more closely, she realized it was Henry Harris.

She braced both hands on the sink, closed her eyes, and let out a heavy sigh.

Henry Harris leaned against the wall, half-laughing, half-crying, “It’s a public restroom. My showing up shouldn’t have scared you, right?”

The Vault wiped her face vigorously, brushing away the water, though her hair still clung damply to her forehead.

Henry Harris took a tissue from his bag and handed it to her. “You two seemed to be having a good chat, so I didn’t go in and interrupt. After all, my identity is awkward, and showing up might cause misunderstandings.”

The Vault took it and quickly wiped the water from her face.

Her eyes were rimmed with a faint red from the water, which, instead of making her look pale, gave her a bit of color and softened her previously cold and aloof demeanor.

The Vault tossed the tissue into the trash, licked her lips, and said, “I was thinking, why is Leonard Campbell so passionate about social psychology? Why is he so interested in interpersonal relationships? Why does he like observing different types of people?”

“...Every time I see him, I can never figure out what he’s thinking, and he’s always trying to probe my feelings, as if he’s always in work mode. That’s why I really don’t like him.”

Henry Harris looked at her eyes through the mirror. “And then?”

The Vault replied coolly, “Is it because that’s a blank field he can never enter? He’s like Xavier Daniels, inherently different from the general population. That’s why he’s especially calm, as if he can always remain detached.”

Henry Harris’s brow furrowed slightly.

The Vault stared at her own reflection, gradually feeling a sense of unfamiliarity. Behind her, Henry Harris was also staring at her unblinkingly, making her feel a chill, as if she’d always been observed through a one-way mirror without realizing it.

“If that’s the case, he wouldn’t have written love letters to Sean Hall or had an affair with her. What he wants is to observe and learn, not to manipulate. He doesn’t have the kind of powerful empathy needed to control everything—he’s not good at performing.”

“Would Sean Hall really fall in love with a man more than thirty years older than herself, regardless of everything?”

Chapter 113

As The Vault finished speaking, a deathly silence fell over the restroom. Both faces in the mirror seemed covered in a layer of frost, chilling to the bone.

This case had always been shrouded in mystery. After months of sleepless effort, the team had finally managed to find a clue in the cracks, but before they could follow the thread to the end, it already showed signs of being overturned. Anyone would feel frustrated knowing this.

Henry Harris was under a lot of pressure, and her superior was under even more. Guesses couldn’t be used as evidence, and if they kept circling back to the starting point, all their efforts might be wasted.

Henry Harris didn’t know what The Vault had learned from her conversation with Ms. Steele, but this time, she didn’t fully agree with The Vault’s thinking.

Take “Xavier Daniels” for example—he was also someone who relied on pretending to fit into society, and his disguise wasn’t perfect, yet there were still girls who became infatuated with him, willing to give their lives for him.

Feelings don’t always follow the logic of the world. You can’t reason them out with logic, because they can make people lose their minds.

Henry Harris looked at The Vault with a probing gaze, but the latter seemed not to notice, just lowered her head thoughtfully, tidying her damp sleeves.

During previous investigations, there had also been all kinds of confusing information, but The Vault had always stuck firmly to her suspicions. Why, this time, did she so decisively dismiss Leonard Campbell’s suspicion?

After a while, Henry Harris asked, “What’s wrong?”

The Vault looked up, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Henry Harris said, “You seem very anxious.”

A trace of surprise flashed across The Vault’s face, and she instinctively turned aside to avoid Henry Harris’s gaze.

She wasn’t sure if she was overthinking. In the ward, a rather disturbing thought had flashed through her mind. Because her conversation with Ms. Steele was relaxed, the thought wasn’t strong and she quickly suppressed it.

But when she ran into Zachary Campbell at the door, it resurfaced, and much more strongly.

Why did the other party treat her as a test subject? And when did they start targeting her?

Was it because she was a competitor in their otherwise boring life, or was she the continuation of some goal?

Was it when they discovered her special talent? Or even earlier?

The Vault’s lips tightened into a stiff line. She parted her lips slightly, relaxed her facial muscles, and let out a slow, heavy breath.

The Vault’s father died in a car accident, her mother died by suicide after a mental breakdown. At the time, both deaths seemed like accidents, but now it was impossible to know if there were more coincidences behind those so-called accidents.

The Vault couldn’t help but ask herself—Is that so? Is it really like that?

Leonard Campbell had appeared in her life so early, and he knew her parents well. Was her life unusual from the very beginning? Was she just an insider, even more oblivious than Xavier Daniels?

A passerby pushed open the restroom door, but after taking one step inside, was stunned by the oppressive atmosphere, thinking she’d walked into some kind of dramatic confrontation. She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to overcome her fear or her physical need.