He spoke as he moved past Charles Gray, pulling William Sherman by the elbow: “You’re really not hurt? I’m so sorry for dragging you into this. I need to take you for a check-up.”

William Sherman, completely unguarded, handed his hand over: “Really…”

His words stopped there. William Sherman’s expression went blank for a moment, then he cleanly and swiftly lost consciousness.

Logan Sullivan deftly caught William Sherman, who collapsed into his arms, half-kneeling as he freed one hand to support William Sherman’s knees. Leaning close to his ear, he whispered, “A female student named Quinn Barnes attempted suicide by jumping today. You brought her to the hospital, but you had a hypoglycemic episode and were kept for observation for a day.”

Julian West pointed at Quinn Barnes and gave Logan Sullivan a meaningful look.

Logan Sullivan continued whispering by William Sherman’s ear: “As for Quinn Barnes, she was involved in a murder case and was taken by the police for questioning in the evening. You don’t remember anything else.”

William Sherman’s glasses had been knocked askew, sliding down his nose and revealing his elegant brows. Unconscious, he rested his head on Logan Sullivan’s shoulder.

Logan Sullivan bent down and picked up William Sherman, carrying him out.

Julian West hoisted Quinn Barnes onto his shoulder. After a few steps, he noticed Charles Gray hadn’t followed, so he turned and politely asked, “Benefactor, this humble monk still has another shoulder free—should I carry you out as well?”

Charles Gray: “No, no, no… that’s not necessary, thank you.”

Julian West pressed his palms together with one hand: “Amitabha, no need to be polite.”

With that, he strode out with measured steps, unhurried and calm.

Logan Sullivan carefully avoided the duty nurse who had reappeared at some point, returned William Sherman to Quinn Barnes’s hospital room, gently removed his glasses and set them aside, tucked him in, and turned up the air conditioning.

Then, after a moment’s thought, Logan Sullivan took Professor Shen’s right hand and traced an invisible calming charm on the back with his index finger. Finally, Logan Sullivan grinned mischievously, gently kissed the back of William Sherman’s right hand, took full advantage of the moment, and said smugly, “Good night, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Let’s go,” he waved to Julian West and Charles Gray, “We’ve got an important guest arriving at midnight—let’s not keep them waiting. Time to report back.”

Only after their footsteps had completely faded from the hallway did the previously sleeping William Sherman suddenly open his eyes. He sat up, not a trace of drowsiness on his face.

William Sherman raised his right hand, his fingers lightly brushing over it. A soft golden charm appeared on the back of his hand. William Sherman gazed at it tenderly for a long while, a smile unconsciously appearing at the corner of his lips—yet it vanished almost instantly.

His brows furrowed again, as if in worry, or perhaps in pain.

William Sherman murmured something softly, and the golden charm floated up from the back of his hand like a sheet of paper, hovering in the air. William Sherman caught it in his palm, carefully put it away, then tidied up the hospital bed, nimbly jumped out the second-floor window, and disappeared into the night.

By the time Logan Sullivan and the others returned to No. 4 Guangming Road, it was nearly midnight. The night-shift guard, Old Watson, had already taken over. When he saw Charles Gray, Old Watson greeted him enthusiastically, baring his huge mouth: “Hey! Xiao Guo, you’re back? How was your first mission?”

After being chased all night by hungry ghosts, Charles Gray suddenly found Old Watson’s paper-mâché face rather endearing. He managed a weak smile and replied, not quite honestly, “...It was, um, pretty good…”

Old Watson laughed heartily: “It’s normal to feel out of place at first. Just keep learning and working hard. You’re alive, after all—you’ve got a future!”

For the first time, Charles Gray realized he actually had some workplace advantages—like being alive.

Logan Sullivan signaled for Julian West and Charles Gray to take Quinn Barnes inside, parked the car, checked the time, and lowered his voice to speak privately to Old Watson: “You know about this case, right? The one that broke out of prison—we only have the authority to arrest, not to judge. So in a bit, the Soul Reaper will come in person. Please be ready to receive them.”

Old Watson stiffened in shock, unconsciously straightening up and lowering his voice as well: “Is it… that one?”

Logan Sullivan nodded, patted his shoulder, and, looking a bit tired, lit a cigarette and headed into the office.

After he left, Old Watson didn’t dare sit in the guard room reading the newspaper anymore. Like a sentry, he stood at the door at attention, ramrod straight.

Logan Sullivan waved Charles Gray over, brought him into the office, pointed to a new desk, and said casually, “That’s your spot. Unless there’s a special reason, our regular hours are nine to five, no clocking in. If you’re late or need to leave early, just let me know. Attendance is on the honor system. Lunch break is from twelve to one, cafeteria’s on the second floor, meals are free for staff. Leave doesn’t affect your pay, and your benefits will be sorted out soon—no need to worry.”

Then Logan Sullivan pulled a bank card from his pocket and handed it to Charles Gray: “The initial password is six ones. Change it at the ATM. Your salary and bonuses will be paid to this card. Payday is the fifteenth of each lunar month. Your first month’s pay is already in there. For travel reimbursements, go to Zach Warren. Fill out the reimbursement form during the day, attach the receipts—ask the others how to do it—leave it on her desk, and she’ll process it at night. Pick up your money from her the next day.”

Charles Gray took the salary card with both hands, momentarily forgetting about the terrifying woman with her head stitched to her neck, feeling a sense of indescribable pride—this salary card meant he truly had his first job!

“I… I have a salary now!” he stammered, his eyes shining.

No matter how silly or money-obsessed, what a legendary trait. Logan Sullivan gave a wry smile: “You’re a second-generation official, you’re not short of money—what are you so excited about?”

Charles Gray looked up earnestly: “I’m useful! I really am useful!”

But what use, he didn’t say. He just carefully tucked the salary card into a compartment of his wallet—as if it were some rare treasure.

Logan Sullivan was about to say something when, in that instant, he suddenly saw a flash of dazzling white light pass over Charles Gray.

Logan Sullivan was almost startled—this kid has such great merit, is it ancestral blessing, reincarnation, or…?

He stubbed out his cigarette, narrowed his eyes, and studied the beaming Charles Gray, then pointed nonchalantly at the “Director’s Office” across the way: “That’s where I usually am. If you need anything, just knock.”

With that, he wiped his face. Charles Gray noticed the heavy dark circles under his eyes—Logan Sullivan slumped into a chair, sprawled across the desk like a dead dog: “I need a nap. Wake me when he arrives.”

Charles Gray wasn’t sure who “he” referred to, but fortunately Julian West was still around. The poor intern hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours, his body tense the whole time. He’d barely sat down in the air-conditioned office before he started to doze off.

It felt like he hadn’t slept long when Charles Gray was startled awake by an indescribable chill.

Chapter 18: The Reincarnation Sundial Seventeen …

It was a strange kind of cold, so intense it seemed to freeze the air itself. At some point, the office air conditioning had stopped blowing cold air, but no one seemed to need it anymore, because the temperature in the entire building had plummeted, and a fine white frost had formed on the windows.

All the drifting, busy ghostly staff members stopped in their tracks, standing respectfully with heads bowed, as if lining up to welcome some important figure.

At some point, Logan Sullivan had woken up and was now sitting upright, four cups set out before him as he poured hot tea. Julian West was already standing.

Charles Gray, not knowing what was happening, stood up as well.

At that moment, the office air conditioner gave a soft hum and automatically switched to heating mode.

Clear footsteps echoed unhurriedly down the empty hallway, stopping at the door of the Criminal Investigation Department office. Old Watson opened the door and led someone inside.

Old Watson’s manner was extremely respectful, like a palace eunuch escorting the emperor in a movie. He led the guest into the office, bent down to pull out a chair for them, but didn’t dare raise his head, saying meekly, “Sir, please have a seat.”

Charles Gray heard the person reply politely, “Thank you for your trouble.”

It was a man’s voice, extremely pleasant, gentle and courteous, yet still carrying a solemnity that made one instinctively lower their head.