"Hm?"
Russell raised his face to meet Charlotte's gaze, with shock and confusion on his face.
"Since when did you start being interested in things like this?"
And more importantly, why today of all days?
"Just..."
I was just asking."
Charlotte said.
Russell was silent for a while.
What should he say?
"Nothing much."
Russell said calmly.
"Pretty much what you'd expect: classes, sleeping, breaks————what else were you expecting?"
"That's all?"
Charlotte raised her face and looked at Russell.
Those gray-blue eyes held doubt, as though trying to discern whether he was lying.
"And an interview too."
Russell said.
"Interview?"
"Yeah, an interview with Phoenix magazine."
"Phoenix?"
Charlotte was surprised and furrowed her brows slightly. "What's that?"
"A student magazine."
Russell explained.
"It's the kind that… well, publishes poems written by students, missing person notices, that sort of thing."
"Missing person notices?"
Charlotte's brow furrowed even deeper. "Are they looking for you?"
"No."
Russell smiled helplessly. "They came to interview me.
"Interview you?"
Charlotte's expression became somewhat subtle.
"What's so interesting about an interview?"
"Well, they became interested in me after reading The Times."
Russell shrugged. "You weren't at school. Otherwise, they would've definitely come looking for you too."
Charlotte was silent for a few seconds.
"So, what did you say?"
"I said you like staying up late."
He answered honestly. "You love strong coffee, don't listen to advice about playing the violin, and a bunch of other things.
Russell relayed the interview to Charlotte, cleverly omitting the parts he shouldn't have said.
Hearing this, Charlotte's eyes widened.
"You badmouth me when I'm not around?"
"Speaking the truth isn't badmouthing."
Russell shrugged.
"If you don't tell the whole truth, it's a lie."
Charlotte pouted.
"By the way, they also asked what I think of you."
Suddenly, Russell thought of something and said.
"What did you answer?"
Charlotte pressed even harder, instinctively leaning forward.
"I said," Russell looked at her and smiled mischievously, "you're a troublemaker."
Charlotte's expression froze.
"That's all?"
Why did this answer sound so familiar?
"Yeah."
Russell nodded.
"She says it's unnecessary, but in reality she remembers everything.
She says she doesn't care, but if she didn't care, she'd just stay awake until dawn."
Russell shrugged.
"That's about it."
"Russell Watson!"
"It was a joke."
Russell laughed.
Charlotte glared at him, then lowered her head and continued poking at the mashed potatoes on her plate.
The poking motion was stronger than before, the fork digging into the soft mashed potatoes with a faint "puff" sound.
"...Who told you to say something like that?"
Her voice was muffled, as though squeezed out from the back of her throat.
Russell raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you the one who asked?"
Charlotte didn't answer.
She simply continued poking at the poor mashed potatoes once, twice, three times——as though venting some indescribable emotion.
Russell looked at her and smiled helplessly.
"Food is for eating, not for taking out your anger on."
"Don't stick your nose into other people's business: later I'll go to Buckingham Palace and file a report.
Charlotte twisted her lips and set down the fork in her hand.
After saying that, she looked away and continued drinking her soup.
For some reason, she always felt like something was off.
It wasn't something she could deduce——just a subtle, indescribable sense of dissonance.
No, more like a woman's sixth sense.
Charlotte didn't pursue it any further.
There was no practical basis for these kinds of things. It might just be gossip.
"What about you?"
Suddenly Russell spoke, interrupting Charlotte's thoughts.
"Hm?"
"Yeah," Russell nodded. "You stayed home all day and didn't go out?"
"No."
"Then what did you do?"
Hearing this, Charlotte's hand gripping the spoon stopped, and she instinctively recalled what she had done today.
In the morning, while he was away, she had snuck into his room, rummaged through his suitcase, looked at his clothes, and then lain down on his bed and fallen asleep.
She had continued sleeping like that until he returned.
That was all Charlotte had done today.
"...Slept."
She muttered in a hoarse voice.
"You slept all day?"
"Yeah."
Russell raised an eyebrow and couldn't help but laugh.
"Not bad. The quality of sleep was good too."
Charlotte said nothing.
The previously restrained atmosphere at the dining table had considerably relaxed at this moment.
"By the way..."
Russell suddenly spoke.
"Hm?"
"Miss Vanessa's place," Russell said. "Charles Brown——any new news?"
Hearing this, Charlotte was a little surprised.
"No."
She said, "He still doesn't seem to have recovered."
"Is that so?" Russell nodded. "Billson is dead. Now the only lead left is Charles Brown, this last clue."
He sighed. "If even he goes crazy, then there really are no options left."
Charlotte silently listened to Russell's complaints and said nothing, simply sinking into her own thoughts.
Vanessa had said she would go alone next time.
To see Charles while Russell was away.
At the time, Charlotte had felt resistance and unease toward this experiment.
Not fear of the experiment itself, but fear of the result.
If Charles really remained stable the entire time Russell was away, what would that mean?
Vanessa had proposed other hypotheses, but everyone knew those assumptions were nothing more than self-deception.
But afterward, Charlotte had found a reason to feel at ease.
There was no evidence.
Because there was no chain of evidence, she had obtained a sliver of peace of mind.
But now, because of Charles's condition, that peace of mind was beginning to waver slightly.
Vanessa's proposal was like a thorn lodged in Charlotte's heart.
It didn't hurt or itch, but it was undeniably there.
It constantly reminded Charlotte of another unsettling possibility that she could neither confirm nor deny.
If the cause of Charles's emotional loss was truly Russell——
Then there would be evidence.
Not direct evidence proving that Russell was Moriarty, but enough to prove that the relationship between the two wasn't as simple as it appeared.
At the very least, it would help establish a chain of suspicion.
Charlotte suddenly set down the spoon in her hand.
She didn't want this "at the very least."
She didn't want evidence.
She didn't want to have any evidence at all.