He was certain that the woman depicted above was Kevin Quinn. The tranquil and beautiful aura emanating from the image revealed the artist’s fondness for her.

“The person in the painting doesn’t have any of the features that Captain Harris mentioned. No slightly curled long hair, and no similar makeup.” Julian Grant looked at The Vault’s tightly furrowed brows and cautiously asked, “What does this mean? Does it mean your mother wasn’t under Zachary Campbell’s control?”

The Vault stared unblinkingly at the drawing in front of her, her pupils moving up and down. She spared a bit of attention, sluggishly pondering his words, and absentmindedly replied, “Hm?”

Julian Grant really couldn’t see what was so noteworthy about the painting: “Hm what? What are you looking at?”

“I’m looking at the background. It feels familiar to me.” The Vault shot him a faint glance, then pointed to a notch in the upper left corner of the paper. “I’ve come across this thing before. Look, this is my drool, and I even bit it.”

Julian Grant was silent for two seconds, then exclaimed in surprise, “You drooled—you… you could remember things at such a young age?”

The Vault hesitated, opened her mouth, and said helplessly, “You actually believed that?”

Julian Grant: “……” So, can you please act serious at a tense moment?

Seeing the aggrieved look in his eyes, The Vault held back a laugh and explained, “Kevin Quinn never owned this dress. She never wore such Western vintage-style clothing.”

To be precise, after graduating high school, except for work uniforms, Kevin Quinn’s clothes all leaned toward a more androgynous style. On the rare occasion she wore a dress, it would never be a wide-necked, low-cut one.

She was beautiful, but came from a poor family, and hated the prying eyes and covert harassment of others. But not everyone understood boundaries, so she could only protect herself in this barely adequate way.

Julian Grant seemed to have a vague sense of something, but couldn’t quite grasp it: “So this painting…”

“So this painting isn’t realistic. It’s a scene from Zachary Campbell’s imagination. That means the place in the painting might have some other significance for Zachary Campbell.” The Vault said seriously, “This painting used to be stashed away by Kevin Quinn. She was often not home, and when I was bored, I’d take it out and look at it… I mean, it’s a bit similar to the painting at Rachel Thornton’s house.”

Julian Grant couldn’t recall at all: “Which one?”

The Vault hastily stuffed the scattered items back into the box and said with a hint of urgency, “Let’s go to Rachel Thornton’s house.”

“Now?” Julian Grant checked his watch—the hour hand was nearly at midnight. Visiting at this time was almost certainly a disturbance. He hesitated, “Isn’t that a bit inappropriate?”

The Vault tilted her head, looking at him with an indescribable, innocent expression.

Julian Grant couldn’t resist and quickly caved in, saying, “Fine, fine, I’ll call her first. If she answers, we’ll go; if not, we’ll wait until tomorrow. Is that okay?”

Rachel Thornton answered the phone quickly and agreed to let them come over. Judging by her tone, though, she didn’t sound particularly pleased.

In the residential building at midnight, their deliberately quiet footsteps echoed in the hallway, accompanied by indistinct conversation.

A girl opened the door from inside, and the sensor light on the ceiling flicked on, illuminating three pale faces inside and out.

Rachel Thornton opened her tired eyes, dark circles faintly visible beneath them. She rubbed her face hard and muttered, “What could you possibly want from me? And in the middle of the night, no less.”

The Vault grabbed her arm and gently pushed her inside.

“What are you doing?” Rachel Thornton’s steps were unsteady, and she let herself be led in with her eyes closed.

The Vault made her way to the same spot as last time, and under Rachel Thornton’s gaze, took out the painting.

—A woman in a white dress and a little girl stood in front of a simple, elegant wooden house, surrounded by a stream.

A child’s world is more fanciful; the rivers nearly reached the sky in the painting, and the forest was depicted as rows of triangle-topped trees.

Julian Grant compared the two carefully, struggling to connect it to the painting at The Vault’s home, still feeling a bit like he was forcing the resemblance.

How imaginative would someone have to be to recognize this as the same place?

The woman he deeply admired was pointing at the wooden house in the painting, asking seriously, “Did you paint this?”

Rachel Thornton nodded, not understanding: “Yeah.”

“What place is this?”

Rachel Thornton became a bit more alert, but her mind was still slow. She squatted down, took the painting from The Vault, tracing the lines with her finger as she searched her memory for any details.

After trying, she shook her head and pinched her nose in defeat: “How could I remember? It was so long ago. Is this place important?”

The Vault softened her tone, gently coaxing, “The features. Tell me the features you remember. Where is this river? What’s its length, width, direction? What flowers and plants are on the mountain? How long does it take to get there from your house? Or, which highway exit did you take, and how many tunnels did you pass through?”

Children tend to remember tunnels or flowers and plants more clearly. Prompted by her, Rachel Thornton slowly began to recall some overlooked details.

She wasn’t sure if it would help, but she described everything she could remember.

“I remember… passing through five tunnels. I also saw a water park on the way. There was a… river? Or a stream? With fish in it. There were some trees by the road that bore black fruit…”

Rachel Thornton’s account was a bit scattered, but in a geoinformation system with increasingly complete data, her answers were enough to deduce the precise geographic area.

The Vault looked at Julian Grant, who confidently made a gesture and called the backend staff at Trident, relaying the information and instructions.

Then came the patient wait.

Rachel Thornton was very sleepy, her eyelids drooping constantly. While her mother was in the hospital, she could barely sleep, struggling daily between exhaustion and insomnia. The empty apartment made her feel unsafe; even with counseling, she couldn’t adjust. The arrival of The Vault and Julian Grant actually helped her relax for the first time in a while.

Rachel Thornton lay down on the sofa and fell asleep without realizing it.

The Vault had wanted her to confirm the final location, but after watching her sleepy face for a while, she just covered her with a blanket and quietly left.

The two of them sat in the car, sunroof open, letting the cool autumn night breeze in.

About an hour later, the tech guy working overtime yawned and sent the list of matching addresses to Julian Grant’s phone.

Using a map app, Julian Grant searched for the specified wooden house within the area. Soon, he found a wooden cabin built halfway up a mountain.

Zooming in, he saw a flowerbed on the side of the cabin. It wasn’t professionally maintained—mostly lush green grass, dotted with clusters of small, white wildflowers. But the road in front of the house was kept very clean, clearly swept regularly.

With just one look, it was obvious this place was almost identical to the one in Kevin Quinn’s painting.

Julian Grant was a bit surprised, suddenly realizing, “It’s real?”

The final breakthrough actually came from a painting Kevin Quinn received years ago?

The Vault pressed her lips together, feeling her heart pounding in her chest, a faint ringing in her ears.

She felt it was a kind of guidance—a trace left by the deceased over the long years, giving her a subtle connection to her parents once more.

It was as if the dim image flickered to life again, as if those who had vanished became invisible threads pulling her toward the truth, as if fate’s strangeness had finally created a moment of warmth.

This indescribable feeling made her fingertips tingle with heat.

The Vault discreetly touched her nose, steadied her voice, and said calmly, “This probably isn’t a coincidence. Bringing the woman he loves to a place where he feels at ease is symbolic. For Zachary Campbell, whose parents divorced, this house might be a microcosm of his happy childhood. Seeking or recreating a lover similar to his mother, taking her to the safest place in his memory—he’s pursuing the sense of security that comes with ‘home.’”

“This is where he’s least guarded. If there’s any evidence left, it can only be here.”

Though the words were calm, Julian Grant couldn’t help but feel stirred. After so much aimless chasing and so many dead ends, they had finally seized the opponent’s weak spot.

He immediately relayed the location to Henry Harris for secondary confirmation.

Captain Harris was also a veteran of late-night work. Upon receiving the intel, she immediately set to work in the new direction.

Soon after, she called to confirm the ownership of the wooden house.

It turned out to be Ms. Xue’s family home. When Zachary Campbell was young, he often spent summer vacations there with his parents.

Julian Grant breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that most of the dust had settled. “We’ll take people over to check it out tomorrow morning.”