Logan Sullivan took two deep breaths, lay back down, and buried half his face in the clothes. The clothes belonged to William Sherman; he only realized this after leaving the house. The collar still seemed to linger with that person's clean and pleasant scent.

He didn't know how much time had passed before Logan Sullivan finally mumbled, "I'm fine—Julian West, just leave it there, I'll sweep up later. I wasn't snapping at you just now... I'm just feeling a bit unwell right now. Let me lie here by myself for a while, you all go do your own thing."

Darrin Grant twitched his whiskers, and Logan Sullivan reached out, roughly ruffling the fur on its head, then absentmindedly patted the fat cat's backside. "If you have time, go help me track down where the book 'Ancient Secrets Record' actually came from."

"Ordering your Grandpa Cat around," Darrin Grant grumbled in dissatisfaction, purring, "So where's my red envelope? My New Year's money?"

With his eyes closed, Logan Sullivan fished around in William Sherman's coat pocket, pulled out a handful of loose change, grabbed the cat by the neck, stuffed the coins into its collar tag, and waved it off like a beggar: "You sure have the nerve to ask. Even a money-printing machine couldn't keep up with your age. Off you go."

Darrin Grant bared its teeth, about to scratch at his clothes, but Logan Sullivan quickly blocked it with his hand. Darrin Grant's claws touched the warmth of human skin and instantly retracted, but still left a white mark on Logan Sullivan's arm.

Not even allowed to sharpen its claws anymore—Darrin Grant froze for a moment, then stomped off in a huff, convinced that Logan Sullivan, that big jerk, was treating such a noble and aloof cat like a bus fare box.

Because there are so many customs and rituals during the Spring Festival, and since most members of the Special Investigation Bureau aren't human and each has their own way of celebrating, unless something urgent comes up, they usually don't return to work until after the fifteenth. During the day, No. 4 Guangming Road is just an empty courtyard. With his heart blocked up by matters concerning William Sherman, Logan Sullivan resolved to sleep his troubles away, and didn't wake until the sun was high in the sky.

When he woke again, even the black cat had been sent away. The office was quiet. Logan Sullivan reached out, grabbed the down jacket he had almost kicked to the floor, patted off the dust, rubbed his eyes, and looked down—only to pause in surprise. He had left in a hurry, slipping on a pair of shoes without even socks, and only realized outside that they were slip-on leather shoes, which were a bit cold.

Looking down, Logan Sullivan saw a pair of his usual short boots neatly placed on the floor, with a thick pair of wool socks stuffed inside. A set of freshly ironed clothes was draped over the sofa armrest, with underwear tucked inside, and his phone, wallet, and keys placed on top... The only thing missing was a coat, probably because that person wanted to leave him the one he had worn.

Suddenly, someone spoke: "Mr. Sherman brought these over for you. I was going to call you, but he wouldn't let me."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Logan Sullivan saw that it was Holly Harlow sitting behind the desk, passing the time online.

"Where's William Sherman?"

"He left," Holly Harlow said, her gaze moving from the monitor.

Logan Sullivan paused, his voice a bit hoarse: "Where did he go? Did he say anything else?"

"Oh, he said, 'It's cold outside. When you're done, just go home. Don't worry about running into him; he's gone back to his own place.'" Holly Harlow parroted the words exactly, then added, "Then he left. Probably went home—by the way, why did you two pick the New Year to have a fight?"

Logan Sullivan didn't answer. He knew what "his own place" meant—not the apartment Holly Harlow assumed, and the thought twisted his heart like a knife. But in front of others, he could only keep his expression blank.

After sitting for a while, Logan Sullivan put on the socks, grabbed a change of clothes, and went to the bathroom. He changed out of his pajamas, quickly washed up, then braced his hands on the sink, staring at the snow-white enamel for a while before burying his face in cold water.

He didn't dare think about William Sherman for the moment. For the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to feel like a piece of your heart had been gouged out just by thinking of someone.

He stayed in the bathroom so long that Holly Harlow eventually got worried and came to knock on the door: "Director Sullivan, are you alright?"

Logan Sullivan responded, dried the water from his face, found the toiletries he kept in the office for late-night work, and shaved off the stubble in the mirror. He tidied himself up to look presentable, straightened his back, and walked out.

He knew that even if his heart ached to the point of myocarditis, it wouldn't solve anything. He had to quickly find some clue in the tangled mess of problems.

Holly Harlow was waiting for him at the door. She looked at him, hesitated, but Logan Sullivan just asked calmly, "Is there anything to eat? I'm hungry."

Holly Harlow: "...The cafeteria probably has something. Why don't you go check?"

Logan Sullivan nodded, turned, and went straight up to the second floor himself, which surprised Holly Harlow even more—Logan Sullivan was always the type to sit behind his desk and order people around, saying things like "Bring your lordship a bowl of porridge." He almost never "lowered himself" to go to the cafeteria in person.

Logan Sullivan went to the cafeteria, ordered a standard breakfast set, and sat down to eat in silence. At this moment, he was in a strange state of calm. Holly Harlow followed him without a word, feeling that even if the sky fell right now, he'd just glance up and then go back to drinking his porridge with a blank face, which made her even more anxious.

Only after Logan Sullivan had finished all the food on his tray did he feel some warmth return to his cold, numb hands and feet. He glanced at Holly Harlow in surprise. "What are you doing at work?"

"..." Holly Harlow was silent for a moment. "I was supposed to take the train with Julian West today to check out the black dog and the corpse."

"Oh, so why didn't you go?"

"I was a bit worried about you, so I let him go by himself."

Logan Sullivan wiped his mouth, stood up, and cleared his own tray, saying indifferently, "What's there to worry about with me? If you're free, just go home."

Holly Harlow said nothing, just followed him.

Logan Sullivan strolled back to his office, sat down, turned on the computer as usual, and glanced at Holly Harlow: "Why are you still following me?"

Holly Harlow: "What's really going on with you?"

Logan Sullivan took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the drawer, replying lightly, "Nothing."

Holly Harlow wouldn't let it go, pressing, "If it's nothing, why did you spend half the night at the office instead of going home?"

"Oh," Logan Sullivan took a deep drag of smoke, inhaling it all into his lungs, "I had a bit of an argument with him last night."

"Bullshit," Holly Harlow's brow twitched, and she said bluntly, "You think everyone else is blind? You treat that Sherman guy like your sweetheart. If it was just a trivial fight, you'd have gone home by now, probably kneeling on a washboard and writing a ten-thousand-word apology. You wouldn't be here wasting time with me."

Logan Sullivan: "..."

"Did he do something to let you down?" When Holly Harlow said this, her eyes were so bright it was scary, as if the moment Logan Sullivan nodded, she'd rush out and swallow William Sherman whole.

"Stop talking nonsense." Logan Sullivan flicked his ash. "You're getting more and more gossipy. Careful, gossipy women never get married."

Holly Harlow said bitterly, "Doesn't matter. The person I like doesn't like me anyway. I wasn't going to get married in the first place."

Logan Sullivan understood what she meant, but could only play dumb, left speechless again. He decided to make a shameful escape—he found a briefcase, stuffed his wallet and phone inside, left the computer on, and turned to leave.

But Holly Harlow was determined not to let him go, immediately following: "Where are you going?"

"I have a meeting with a department leader," Logan Sullivan glanced at Holly Harlow, "Why are you still following me?"

As soon as he unlocked the car, Holly Harlow quickly got into the passenger seat, buckled her seatbelt with a click, and sat as steady as a mountain: "I'm coming too."

"..." Logan Sullivan stood at the door and sighed helplessly, "Auntie, can you give me a break?"

Holly Harlow turned her face away indifferently.

The two stared each other down for a while, but Holly Harlow remained unmoved. In the end, Logan Sullivan could only take a deep breath, force down his irritation, stub out his cigarette, and get in the car without a word.

He stayed silent the whole time. Holly Harlow snuck glances at him several times, but only saw a handsome, cold profile. Finally, unable to stand the silence, she asked, "Which department leader is it?"

"Little Guo's second uncle," Logan Sullivan said. "Right, speaking of which, it's fine if you come along. In a while, help me look into who was behind the scenes, pulling strings to get Charles Gray transferred to our department."

Holly Harlow: "Pulling strings? For Little Guo? What could he do? Why?"

Logan Sullivan said nothing.