Bro, can we not keep bringing up the pot that’s not boiling? Klein muttered under his breath, feeling his head start to throb again. The original owner’s forgotten knowledge wasn’t exactly abundant—by any means—nor was it negligible. He had an interview tomorrow, and how could he possibly catch up on everything? Moreover, he’d gotten entangled in a series of strange and eerie incidents—how could he possibly find the time or mental space to “review”? After briefly brushing off a few words to his sister, Klein began pretending to read. Melissa brought a chair and sat beside him, working on her homework under the glow of the gas lamp. The atmosphere was calm and peaceful. By nearly eleven, the siblings exchanged goodnight wishes and went to bed. ………… Thud! Thud, thud! A knock at the door woke Klein from his dream. He glanced out the window at the morning light, his mind still a bit foggy as he sat up. “Who is it?” It was already this late? Why hadn’t Melissa woken me up? “Me, Dunn Smith,” a steady male voice answered from outside. Dunn Smith? You didn't recognize... Kline shook his head, got out of bed, and walked toward the door. He opened it and saw the officer with gray eyes from yesterday. "What's happened?" Kline asked cautiously. The officer with gray eyes responded seriously: "We found a coachman who confirmed that you were at Mr. Welch's residence on the 27th—on the very day Mr. Welch and Miss Naya died—and that Mr. Welch paid for your ride." Kline paused, showing no signs of shock or embarrassment at having his story exposed. After all, he hadn't been lying at all. In fact, he felt that the evidence provided by the gray-eyed officer, Dennis Smith, was exactly as he had anticipated. On June 27th, the original occupant had indeed gone to Mr. Welch's residence, and had taken his own life that same night—just like Mr. Welch and Miss Naya! Klein opened his mouth, a wry smile playing on his lips. "This isn't quite compelling enough evidence to directly link me to the deaths of Welch and Naya. Honestly, I'd like to know what actually happened—what befell my two dear friends. But, but, I really can't recall. I've almost completely forgotten what I did on the 27th. I know you might find this hard to believe, but I only managed to guess that I might have visited Welch's home on that day thanks to my own notes." Dunne Smith didn't respond immediately. He glanced around the room before slowly saying, "Mr. Welch lost a revolver. I think I should be able to find him here, don't you agree, Mr. Cray?" Indeed... Cray had finally uncovered the revolver's origin, and his thoughts leaped like lightning, instantly forming a decision. He raised his hands halfway and stepped back steadily, clearing a path, then pointed with his chin toward the area beneath the bed. "He's under the bed," he said. He didn't specify the lower one, because it would be unusual for anyone to hide something behind the lower bedboard—visitors would naturally see it right away. The gray-eyed officer Dunne didn't move forward, merely drew a slight smile. "Is there anything else you'd like to add?" Cray answered without hesitation: "Yes!" "Last night, around midnight, I woke up to find myself lying on my desk, the revolver beside me, and bullet holes near the base of the wall—everything pointed to a suicide. But perhaps I was inexperienced with firearms, or perhaps I froze in the final moments of crisis. In any case, the bullets didn't achieve the intended effect; my head remained unharmed, and I'm still here." "Since then, I've begun to forget certain memories—specifically, what I did and what I saw between the 27th and Welch's residence. I haven't fabricated these details; I truly don't remember them." The gray-eyed officer Dunn listened quietly, then spoke slowly: "This aligns perfectly with my expectations and with the underlying logic of similar past incidents—though, of course, I have no idea how you've managed to survive." "You believe that, don't you? I don't either—I have no idea how I'm still here." Klein exhaled slightly, easing his tension. "But," Dunn introduced a pivot, "I believe your current situation is highly suspicious. You must be verified by the experts—either that you genuinely forgot the incident, or that you didn't directly contribute to the deaths of Mr. Welch and Miss Naya." He cleared his throat, his expression growing serious: "Mr. Klein, I'd appreciate your cooperation. We'd like you to return to the station with us. This should take two to three days, if you're indeed without issues." "Has the expert arrived?" Klein asked, slightly taken aback. "We thought she'd come in two days." Dunn leaned slightly, gesturing for Klein to step out. "I'll leave a note here." "Klein requested. Bensen was still on assignment, and Melissa had gone to school, so he could only leave a message informing them of his involvement in Welch's matter and reassure them not to worry. Dunn nodded indifferently: "Alright." Klein returned to his desk, pulling out paper to write while beginning to think about what came next. Honestly, he didn't particularly want to meet the expert—after all, he still held a larger secret. In a place with seven churches, where the legendary Emperor Roscel, a supposed predecessor, had been assassinated, wouldn't "transcendence" cases typically end up before the court, going to arbitration? Yet, with no weapons, no combat skills, and no extraordinary abilities, how could he possibly compete against a professional officer? Not to mention, several of Dunn's subordinates stood in the dim light outside the door, ready to fire. With a deep breath, Klein thought, "Well, one step at a time." He left a note, took his keys, and followed Dunn out of the room. In the dimly lit corridor, four police officers in black coats with white squares stood guard on either side, alert and vigilant. Tap, tap, tap. Caine followed Dune down the wooden stairs, one step at a time, occasionally hearing the creaking sounds. Outside the apartment building, a four-wheeled single-horse carriage was parked, its side panel adorned with the police emblem of "intersecting swords flanking a crown." As always, the area around it was bustling and crowded. "Go up," Dune indicated to Caine. Just as Caine was about to step forward, a fish vendor suddenly grabbed a customer, accusing them of theft. The two began to struggle, startling the horses and causing immediate chaos around them. Opportunity! Without further thought, Caine bent low and surged forward, rushing into the crowd. Pushing, dodging, and weaving, he sprinted wildly toward the opposite end of the street. Under the current circumstances, to avoid being seen by experts, one must head to the dock outside the city, take a boat down the Tassok River, and make it to the capital, Beklanth, where the population is dense and offers better opportunities for concealment. Of course, one could also board a steam train heading east to the nearest Emat port, take a sea route to Priz, and then proceed to Beklanth. Not long after, Caine reached the corner of the street, turned onto the Iron Cross Street, where several hireable carriages were waiting. "To the outer city dock," Caine said, pushing himself up and stepping onto one of them. He had a clear plan: first, deliberately mislead the pursuing police officers, and once the carriage had traveled a reasonable distance, he would jump off and make his escape. "All right," the driver replied, pulling the reins. Clattering along, the carriage departed from the Iron Cross Street. Just as Caine was about to jump off, he suddenly noticed the carriage turning onto a different route—not toward the city's outer dock! "Where are you going?" Caine asked, momentarily stunned. "To Mr. Welch's house..." the coachman replied, his tone unchanged. What? Startled, the coachman turned to face克莱恩, revealing deep, cold gray eyes—exactly like Detective Dunn-Smith! "You!"克莱恩 was utterly惊恐, feeling as though the world had spun and tipped beneath him, and suddenly sat upright. Sat upright?克莱恩 looked left and right, puzzled, to find the red moon at its peak, the room draped in "light gauze." He reached up to his forehead, damp and cool with cold sweat, the same sensation spreading down his back. "I had a nightmare..."克莱恩 exhaled slowly, "Thank goodness. Thank goodness..." He felt surprisingly clear-minded in his dream, able to think calmly, which was quite strange. After a moment of steadiness,克莱恩 checked his watch, noting it was just after two in the morning. He then quietly rose from the bed, intending to go to the public restroom to wash his face and relieve the pressure in his abdomen. He turned the handle of the door and stepped onto the dim corridor, moving quietly under the faint, indistinct moonlight toward the communal restroom. Suddenly, he saw a figure standing by the window at the far end of the corridor. The figure wore a black garment that was shorter than a robe but longer than a suit, blending into the darkness and illuminated by the cool, crimson moonlight. The figure slowly turned to face him, with deep, gray, and cold eyes. Denne Smith!