Charlotte was momentarily stunned.
There was no white mask like she had imagined, no strange hook-lock gun, and certainly no flashy phantom thief costume.
All that was inside were neatly folded summer shirts and several pairs of trousers.
It looked as though they were simply being stored there to make space in the closet for unnecessary clothes.
Reasonable. Logical.
At this conclusion, Charlotte felt a wave of relief.
She closed the suitcase, returned it to its original place, and prepared to stand up.
Just as Charlotte was about to leave, her gaze accidentally turned toward the balcony.
A coat was hanging there.
That coat had been stained with red wine and Billson's blood from the fight.
After washing, it was now hanging on the balcony, waiting to dry.
Charlotte instinctively took a step forward and picked up the coat.
The bloodstains on the clothes had dried and turned a dull brown, standing out against the light-colored fabric.
Charlotte stared at the bloodstains for a while, then shifted her gaze to the collar area.
The fabric there was still not completely dry. When touched, it felt damp and carried a faint soapy scent.
She once again grabbed the sleeve of the shirt and looked down at the injured arm.
There was a noticeable tear in the clothes, with marks left by a sharp weapon still visible at the edges.
Clearly, this was the scene where Russell had been cut by Billson's short knife during their fight.
Charlotte reached out to check the damaged area and confirmed that it wasn't completely torn and there was no blood before finally letting out a sigh of relief.
Fortunately, although the clothes were torn, at least Russell wasn't seriously injured — it had just been a false alarm.
Charlotte lowered the coat sleeve and turned around with satisfaction, leaving the room.
Returning downstairs, she once again sat beside the dining table and looked at the breakfast she hadn't even finished half of.
For some reason, her appetite suddenly returned.
The girl picked up her knife and fork and slowly put the remaining food into her mouth.
It had already cooled slightly, but it was still delicious enough.
After finishing her meal, Charlotte stood up, preparing to rest a little more.
She had lied.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say she had held out until morning.
She had told Russell she had gone to bed early and woken up early, but in reality, she had barely slept last night.
But now, with that burden lifted, the fatigue from staying up late finally crept into her heart.
Just as Charlotte was dragging her slightly tired body toward her own somewhat messy bedroom, the girl suddenly stopped at the landing of the stairs.
She turned around and glanced at the door that had just closed. In her mind, she recalled the final image of that room——
Sunlight streaming diagonally through the window cast warm, bright patches of light on the floor.
The bed was very neat. The quilt was laid flat, and the pillow was arranged just right.
A faint trace of that person's scent still lingered in the air.
Clean, warm, and reassuring.
Suddenly, an absurd thought sprouted in Charlotte's mind.
She wanted to lie on that bed for a while.
Just for a little while.
The moment this thought crossed her mind, it wrapped around her heart like a vine growing wild, making it difficult to breathe or resist.
"It's just... borrowing it."
She told herself.
"This is also... one of an assistant's duties."
Yes, that's it.
She had found a fairly reasonable excuse for her somewhat boundary-crossing actions driven by her own secrets.
And so the girl, like a guilty thief cat, turned around and quickly slipped into the room that wasn't hers.
Then Charlotte took off her shoes, lifted the blanket, and lay down.
The bed was softer than she had imagined. The quilt carried a pleasant warmth dried by the sunlight and a familiar scent.
It was very comfortable.
Charlotte turned to her side and buried her cheek in the soft pillow.
The scent lingering on the pillow was clear and strong, almost completely enveloping her.
It was like a warm embrace, completely relaxing her nerves that had been tense all night in that single moment.
What a strange thing.
Charlotte thought to herself.
Why did someone else's bed give her such a sense of security?
She closed her eyes and felt fatigue envelop her like a tide.
Just lie down for a little while.
Just for a little while.
Thinking this, her breathing gradually became steady and long.
…
Imperial College London.
Russell yawned and casually flipped to another page in his textbook.
Professor Fields' voice echoed through the spacious lecture hall, carrying a hypnotic frequency.
He was desperately trying to stay conscious, but his eyelids grew so heavy they felt like they might close at any moment.
At that moment, a gentle call reached his ears, accompanied by the soft sensation of fingers touching the back of his hand.
"Russell."
Hearing the voice, Russell turned his face and met Mary's smiling eyes.
"You look like you're about to fall asleep."
The girl whispered in a breathy voice, soft like a feather.
"Can't help it..." Russell furrowed his brows, trying to clear his head.
"Professor's lecture is too hypnotic."
Hearing this, the corners of Mary's mouth curled up slightly.
She glanced up at the professor to confirm his attention was elsewhere, then slowly leaned her body closer to Russell's position.
….
The girl brought her face close to Russell's ear and spoke quietly in a voice only the two of them could hear.
"Want to talk?"
Warm breath and the scent of white tea drifted to his ear, as though someone were gently playing with a feather beside it.
Russell was instantly startled, and his guard instantly rose.
He instinctively shrank his neck, turned his head to create distance, and then faced Mary.
"Class is still going on."
He lowered his voice and emphasized, "Professor Fields is still there."
"It's fine," Mary's mouth curled into a sly smile. "He won't see."
The girl glanced at the podium and confirmed that the professor had his back turned, writing colorlessly on the blackboard.
"In the worst case, if he asks about it, we can just say we were discussing how to write the final report."
Hearing this, Russell glanced at Mary's expectant eyes, then looked at Professor Fields on the podium, and finally let out a helpless sigh.
"What do you want to talk about?"
"Anything is fine."
The girl narrowed her eyes and leaned forward even more.
"For example, Moriarty has been very quiet lately. What do you think?"
…
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