“But right now, all I want to do is sleep.” Logan Bennett turned around and stretched with a long yawn. “The handsome, charming, and endlessly attractive Brother Bennett, in order to enrich and entertain the single young women of this city, has fought and lost, lost and fought again on the endless road of blind dates, to the point of exhausting himself, body and soul. He desperately needs two hours of carefree, baby-like sleep to soothe his tormented heart…”

Noah Wright mocked, “Stop flattering yourself. Exhausted, body and soul? In your dreams.”

Logan Bennett: “Overdoing it leads to ashes and nothingness. Haven’t you tried it?”

Noah Wright: “………………”

“Oh right,” suddenly Logan Bennett remembered something and called out to Noah Wright, who was about to leave: “Help me tell the field team to immediately set up a search, centered on the crime scene, and check all the second-hand luxury stores in the city.”

Noah Wright asked, “Second-hand stores?”

“To look for the target backpack missing a zipper pull tab,” Logan Bennett said. “It’s such a new and recognizable brand, I don’t believe someone just took it home to use as a grocery bag.”

Even in the city bureau, Logan Bennett was a rare breed—he didn’t need rest.

He was a monster who could work three days and two nights straight without losing energy, a demon who could sprint after drug dealers for ten kilometers without stopping. He could outlast habitual thieves, was more active than serial killers, and more relentless and fierce than bank robbers; after he joined, the main squad captain finally found time to get the cardiac catheterization surgery he’d put off for years.

Logan Bennett drew the curtains, lay down on the desk, and closed his eyes to mull over the testimony. Some elusive suspicion rose from deep inside, but whenever he tried to focus, the inspiration slipped away like a mischievous little fish.

“No way, he does drugs?”

“Often goes out late to parties, loves playing games…”

“Maybe it’s those miraculous just-passing grades every time that gave him confidence…”

……

What allowed a rich kid with so little study time to scrape by every time, and what made him so sure he could get into a PhD program?

At other universities, there might be something fishy, but at Ethan Brooks’s university, the possibility of money playing a role could basically be ruled out.

—So, could this be related to Lucas Morgan’s death?

Logan Bennett took a deep breath, knowing he needed to hurry and get some sleep, so he pushed aside those stray thoughts and buried his head in the darkness created by the solid wood desk and his arms.

The voices outside the door gradually faded, the traffic below the criminal investigation squad building melted into silence; in an instant, he sank into a deep, half-awake, half-dreaming state, where space and time quietly rearranged themselves, bringing long-forgotten subconscious memories to the surface.

Vaguely, he left the office and stepped into a bustling hall.

Laughter filled his ears, glasses clinked, it seemed to be a very festive celebration. He stood hazily among the tables and chairs, when suddenly someone behind him laughed and said, “Why are you running around like a headless chicken? The person’s right there, aren’t you going to go thank them?”

Thank them, Logan Bennett thought, thank them for what?

Everything I have today, I fought for with my own life—who do I need to thank?

But in the dream, he couldn’t control himself, and stumbled forward with the crowd. He didn’t know how many laughing, faceless people he passed, when suddenly a bright light appeared ahead. He saw a tall, upright figure standing with their back to him, leaning against the window, speaking softly into a phone.

“Aren’t you going to toast them, Logan Bennett? After all that trouble, if it weren’t for Captain Sullivan, would that second-class merit have gone to you?”

“Go on, what are you standing there for?”

“Look at you, can’t even speak now. Aren’t you usually pretty chatty? What, gone dumb?”

……

No, my achievements are earned by myself, they have nothing to do with anyone else.

Why should I toast anyone? Who did I rely on? When it mattered most, was there anyone but me who risked their life to hold back the drug dealer?

It was as if countless voices were arguing in his mind, but in reality, Logan Bennett took a step forward. He couldn’t control his limbs, and the heavy resentment couldn’t stop the even greater invisible force pushing him forward; as if replaying something that had really happened, he raised his glass, and then heard his own younger, slightly hesitant voice say:

“Um, Captain Sullivan…”

Then he saw that scene again.

Of all the dreams that blurred truth and fiction, only this one was real, so vivid and clear it felt like it happened just yesterday.

That figure was on the phone, not even turning their head, just raising a hand. The five fingers were slender and the palm faced outward—a gentle yet decisive gesture of refusal.

“I know,” the person said, “go on.”

There was no pretense, no need for flattery or ingratiation. All the anger and frustration fell flat, the psychological walls built up layer by layer were instantly swept away.

The sudden weightlessness left Logan Bennett momentarily at a loss.

“Go on,” he heard the person repeat, their tone slightly firmer.