The Vault's gaze was bright and piercing, fixed unwaveringly on his face, as if trying to strip away the mask he wore.

Her voice turned cool and distant, like a mournful autumn night breeze: “Is that pink voice recorder cute? Actually, it was just given to Laura Lowell by Nancy Dawson…”

Something in her words seemed to strike a nerve—Victor West's pupils visibly trembled, and for a split second, an unnatural expression flashed across his face. He tried hard to hide it, and the next moment, he raised his hand to wipe his face.

The Vault paused, then, after some thought, probed, “You took Laura Lowell's voice recorder.”

She didn’t miss a single change in Victor West's facial expression: “…It’s a pink voice recorder.”

Victor West reacted quickly, slapping the table and shouting, “Are you trying to trick me?!”

The Vault sped up her speech, her voice clear and loud as she spoke rapidly: “You’re her colleague, so you know she habitually takes a voice recorder with her when she goes out. You were afraid she might have recorded something at work that could be used against you, so you took it away. But what you didn’t know is that Laura Lowell's original recorder was broken—”

Victor West's lips trembled. He avoided her gaze, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“You didn’t know her recorder was broken, and the one she was using now was actually the one Nancy Dawson gave her! So what you took was the old device Laura Lowell still carried with her, the one she hadn’t had time to throw away.” Every word from The Vault was forceful. “But the missing recorder wasn’t found at the scene—it was taken by your accomplice, who didn’t tell you. Your relationship with them isn’t solid.”

Victor West tried to cover up, growling, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

The Vault quickly redialed the call from earlier, and as soon as the ringtone ended, she called out, “A witness took an important piece of evidence from the scene!”

Victor West stood up, eyes red.

“A pink voice recorder…” In The Vault's mind, the testimonies of the three people flashed by, and she concluded, “It was that woman, the one with the child. Find her immediately!”

“Understood!”

The heavy breathing of the three people overlapped, like arrows halted just before release. The muscles in Victor West's legs went from tensed to relaxed in less than a second. At the last moment, a shred of reason pulled him back, making him sit down again. The fragile peace among everyone was now hanging by a thread.

The Vault put down her phone, waiting for the outcome.

From this moment, time seemed to stretch endlessly. For Victor West, every second felt like walking on the edge of a blade—pure torment. His mind wrestled between self-comfort and panic, nearly tearing him apart.

When the vibration sounded again, Victor West jerked like a live fish pinned to a chopping board, leaping up violently.

“Captain.”

The young man across from him spoke calmly, pulling the phone away.

From the speaker came the crackle of static, then a slightly muffled female voice.

“…Victor West, why is it you? What are you doing here?”

“Come a little closer, I have something to tell you.”

“No need. Are you following me? I’m telling you, if you keep this up, I won’t be so… mm—you’re crazy—”

The sounds of struggle grew fainter, soon drowned out by the rain. The brief conversation bluntly replayed the last scene of Laura Lowell's life, and together with the earlier recording that established the timeline, it was irrefutable evidence.

Victor West let out a heavy breath, and as the recording played, the last trace of color drained from his face. Officers rushed in from outside, pinned his hands, and cuffed him.

Victor West had wanted to resist, but when he tried to move his fingers, he realized he was completely drained, unable to muster any strength. At some point, his back had become soaked with cold sweat without him even noticing.

The Vault closed her eyes, feeling something flow through her chest. She asked softly, “Where is Nancy Dawson?”

“Oh, he just went home. I saw it was getting late, so I let him go.”

·

When Harry Forrest reached his own front door, he hesitated. He looked at the faded Spring Festival couplets on either side of the door and pressed the doorbell.

At this moment, the household was still peaceful, even the flowerpots by the door radiated warmth. He almost couldn’t bear to break this tranquility.

A minute or two passed, and there was no sound from inside.

Harry Forrest stepped back, thinking maybe Trident hadn’t set up the model for this side. He lowered his head and gave a bitter smile, unsure whether he felt more relieved or more regretful. Just as he was about to turn and leave, he saw a figure appear at the stairwell corner.

Harry Forrest stared at that familiar face, his feet rooted to the spot, unable to hide the shock on his face.

It was Logan Carter's face, Logan Carter's voice. Her still-youthful face glowed with kindness as she smiled at him, speaking the most ordinary words as if nothing had changed.

“You’re back.”

Harry Forrest's nose stung instantly, and those three words caught in his throat. It took him a long time to find his voice, and he replied in a muffled tone, “Yeah, I’m back.”

Logan Carter came up, took his hand, the long-missed warmth enveloping his palm. She took out the key and opened the door.

“Why aren’t you coming in? Where did you go? I’ve been looking for you for so long…”

The camera didn’t capture her face. As the security door swung open, the game screen turned black, all the murmurs vanished, leaving only the words “Instance Cleared” in the center of the screen, signaling that everything was over.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

The next chapter will be the final extra. I’ll revise the text after it’s finished, and start a new story at the end of September.

I mentioned a lottery before, but I found out that the maximum single draw on Jinjiang is 50,000 Jinjiang coins. So, for 100% subscribers, I’ll draw 100 people and randomly distribute 50,000 Jinjiang coins. Deadline is September 5th. Love you all, mwah~ Good night!

The End

When it came to proposing, Julian Grant took it very seriously. Of course, he wanted to do it as soon as possible, but in front of The Vault, he didn’t dare show it at all, afraid his own anxiety would rub off on her. He felt the most important thing was timing—if the timing was off, everything could fall apart.

The employees at Trident were just as invested.

As creators of countless fanfics, they had imagined scenes of proposals and weddings more than a hundred and eighty times, and had fiercely competed for the title of “the most romantic man,” sparks flying, neither side giving in, the outcome always undecided. They had even nearly risked their friendships over it.

So, when this group saw that Julian Grant had somehow succeeded thanks to some mysterious metaphysics, they couldn’t wait to drop hints and act out in front of him, practically wishing they could turn into light bulbs on the spot, radiating light and heat for five hundred years.

Every day when Julian Grant turned on his computer, he would receive emotional greeting emails from anonymous senders. Those planning proposals, each over a dozen pages long, were written with far more sincerity—and weirdness—than their usual programming work.

“Dear Manager Grant, I’m sorry I was late this morning. I’ve reflected deeply. The main reason is, when I woke up today, my girlfriend told me that every morning when she opens her eyes, the thing she most hopes to see as she wakes from her dreams is…”

“Respected boss, thank you for your selfless guidance all these years. My time at Trident has benefited me greatly. But when I look back on my limited life, the most vivid memory is from an orange-red afternoon, when my lover and I…”

“My wise, kind, and gentle superior! Hello! I still remember, it was spring, my dear girlfriend was going on a business trip, and you kindly approved a day off for me…”

Every time Julian Grant finished reading these emails, he couldn’t help but shudder three times. After this went on for a while, he began to waver between thinking he was abnormal and thinking his employees were.

…He was just too kind, that’s why those guys had so much time on their hands.

Julian Grant sent a warning in the backend that irrelevant emails would result in a deduction from the quarterly bonus, pinned the notice, and only then did the energetic young men finally rein themselves in a bit.

Julian Grant pressed his forehead and let out a long sigh.

Annoying. All just making trouble.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and couldn’t help but recall the scenes that had been circling in his mind these past few days.

Compared to the long-term matter of proposing, he felt that maintaining their relationship was the more urgent task. He’d been worrying about it alone for a long time, but his scattered thoughts never led to a solution—after all, expecting someone in love to stay calm was asking too much.

To be specific, it wasn’t even a big deal.

The Vault had been very busy recently, invited back to A University to give a few public lectures. To ensure quality, she’d been reading and writing lesson plans, and squeezing in time to do experiments at the school.

Julian Grant had gone to support her once. The entire lecture hall was packed, with even more students standing in the aisles. Julian Grant’s seat was a bit far, so he had to rely on the projection screen on the wall to see The Vault’s face clearly.