The side of the Viscount Stafford's manor in Queens. Folly and Hugh crouched in a shadowed corner, quietly watching the closed iron gate, patiently waiting for their target to appear. It wasn't raining tonight, so they didn't have to contend with particularly difficult conditions; and the carriage standing at the edge of the streetlight glow gave them confidence that a success was certain—only a matter of timing, either early or late. After an indeterminate length of time, the iron gate began to creak open, slowly yielding to the pressure of the wind. A figure in a deep black cloak stepped out, lowered her head, and moved with graceful ease to the side of the hired carriage, where she climbed in. "Is that her?" Folly whispered, turning to Hugh. She hadn't possessed the ability to vividly reconstruct the figure's features through description, nor had she seen the person before—so she couldn't rely on intuitive spiritual insights or "astrological" intuition to confirm. Hugh nodded firmly. "Yes." As they whispered, the hired carriage gradually accelerated and pulled away from the side entrance area. Hux immediately stepped out of his hiding corner, preparing to keep pace with the target by jogging, relying on the exceptional abilities of the Constable and the enhanced physical condition brought by the Interrogator. "What do you want to do?" Firth suddenly placed her hand on Hux's shoulder, disrupting her plan. "I'm just following!" Hux turned back, puzzled, to glance at her friend. Firth glanced at the carriage, which had not yet fully pulled away, and thoughtfully asked, "Why are you following? And didn't you say that once the target entered the Beckland Bridge area, they'd be protected by a particularly powerful extraordinary ability?" "Yes," Hux first answered the second question, then added, "Your question is strange. I'm following to confirm the target's appearance, identity, background, and purpose." "Vorth withdrew his left hand from resting on Thore's shoulder, offering a slight smile. 'Given that the target is well protected by a highly capable extraordinary, it will be difficult for us to maintain tracking in the Beckland Bridge area—let alone locate her residence and uncover her true identity. Do you really intend to confront that guardian directly? Even with my assistance, have you confirmed the guardian's strength? How certain are you? Could it be dangerous?' Moreover, any battle that erupts will inevitably alert the target—just as intercepting the carriage en route and confronting her face-to-face would—thus undermining your fundamental objective and raising the Viscount of Stedford's awareness, preventing you from acting without being caught off guard." "Proceeding carries the risk of failure; not proceeding means certain failure," Thore emphasized, clearly aware of the predicament, yet simply wishing to give it another try, seeking opportunities along the way. At that moment, the hired carriage had already turned at the end of the road and entered the main street. Foresight watched its silhouette fade into the distance and shook her head with a smile. "No, no, no—we need to shift our approach! We should first try to establish the target's appearance. Then, once it's daylight, we'll use her description to conduct routine investigations in the Beckland Bridge area and gather intelligence through other channels." "You're using quite professional terminology," Hugh mused as he thought. "Of course—I'm someone who's written detective novels!" Foresight replied with no modesty. "But how can we determine the target's appearance without disturbing her?" Hugh posed the most crucial question. Foresight, well prepared, produced "Lehmann's Travel Notes" and smiled. "Simple—by employing 'Justice' Miss's 'psychological invisibility'!" — Regarding "Justice," Audrey, though she hadn't had many opportunities to use "Leyman's Travel Notes," had rented them several times, studying the unique qualities and effects of each extraordinary ability and recording her own on them, including a particularly practical one: "psychological invisibility." As for the question of her true identity, both Hugh and Fotherse were growing more certain, yet they had never directly asked her nor pursued further investigation—this was the fundamental respect owed to the members of the Tarot Circle. Upon hearing her friend's response, Hugh's thoughts suddenly cleared, and several ideas immediately came to him. Fotherse continued speaking on her own: "Once you activate this extraordinary ability, you will enter the sensory blind spot of surrounding living beings. Even as you move back and forth in front of them, they will not see you. This allows you to step directly onto the carriage, walk straight to your destination, and calmly gaze at her face, memorizing all of her features." "Heh, sometimes I wonder—if someone uses 'psychological invisibility,' and if their luck is truly bad, they might get accidentally stepped on by a large creature passing by by chance." "Hold on—don't make a lot of noise, and don't speak to the creatures around you. If you do, they'll notice you, and the 'psychological invisibility' will automatically fade." "Got it!" Thew nodded, then raised another challenge. "How do you make the target fail to notice the wagon door opening suddenly while the wagon is in motion?" Before Folshe could answer, she immediately followed up with: "Do you have a record of that extraordinary ability—opening the door?" "Your thoughts?" Folshe smiled, handing her the "Lemano Travel Journal" to her friend and indicating the specific pages where the 'psychological invisibility' and the 'door-opening' abilities were described. Thew remembered the details carefully and then quickly dashed along the shaded edges of the road, heading toward the rented wagon they had seen earlier. Not long after, she spotted her target. With a gentle shake of her right hand, the copper-green notebook revealed a page of yellow-brown vellum. As her fingers lightly traced the surface, she seemed to see waves of shimmering light rising from the deep waters of a lake, spreading out in all directions. Once her vision stabilized, she quickened her pace and soon reached the side of the moving carriage. To verify, she didn’t act immediately. Taking several long strides, she passed the horses. Then she turned her body, as if crossing the road—yet the driver remained completely unaware, neither calling out nor tightening the reins. Confirming the effectiveness of "psychological invisibility," she accelerated, dodging the horses' impact and arriving at the side of the carriage. After a brief observation, she flipped through "Lehmann's Travel Notes," revealing a sheet of white paper adorned with strange patterns and symbols, then extended her right hand and pressed it gently against the carriage wall. Instantly, her form became translucent and appeared within the carriage. The woman in the deep black cloak sat across from him, gazing steadily through the glass window as though pondering something, yet completely oblivious to the sudden arrival of the bounty hunter. At this close range, even with her cloak drawn low, Rest could now make out her face clearly—much more so since she wasn’t as cautious as she usually was when moving about, her movements relaxed and unhurried, the cloak often pulled up to her eyes. In that instant, her appearance came into focus, superimposed over a face that bore distinctly masculine features—this was the extraordinary ability of the Constable. Rest’s eyes widened, and he could hardly contain himself, exclaiming, “Sherman?” She had always admired the beauty of the women who frequently visited the Viscount’s estate, yet never imagined that one of them would be his friend Sherman, a young man known for his rather neutral, unremarkable looks. Now, a man once considered unattractive in terms of femininity had transformed into someone so strikingly beautiful and radiating a strong feminine grace. At this moment, Hux couldn't help but study Sherman from head to toe, completely unable to reconcile the man's physique with the young man he had known before. If it weren't for the extraordinary qualities of a sheriff—something that fundamentally confirmed the man across his features was indeed Sherman, Hux would have been certain he had mistaken him. Even then, she now doubted that it was Sherman at all, but rather his sister, born the same day, of the same parents, and sharing the same blood. Only upon hearing her surprised question did Sherman realize that someone had quietly entered the carriage—someone familiar. The bounty hunter Hux Dillchar! At first, she was startled, then instinctively drew upon some of the phrases often mentioned by Tris: "You cannot be encountered by your old acquaintances now. "Do you want your husband, the one you love, to know what you used to be? "Only by completely severing ties with the past can you achieve a new life, can you find salvation!" Similar phrases flashed swiftly through Sherman's mind, suddenly giving rise to a thought she herself feared: "Kill her!" This idea emerged like a devil from the depths, whispering continuously at her ear and resonating within her heart: "Kill her!" "Kill the one who recognizes you!" "Only then can you truly escape the past and hold onto the present!" "Kill her!" Sherman did not answer Hugh's questions. With her left hand resting beside her, she slowly, steadily, yet tremblingly, began to grip it tighter. Hugh noticed the strong emotional shift in her, confirmed that it was indeed Sherman, and then asked with concern: "What has happened to you? How have you become like this? Where have you been recently? Have you encountered any difficulties? Have you sustained any injuries?" Sherman's lips moved several times, his left fist relaxing slightly, as he spoke in a trembling, almost tearful voice: "I've begun a new life. Please don't disturb me anymore, okay? 'I don't want to lose everything I have now. I don't want to see anyone I used to know!' "Her words came faster and faster, her plea growing more urgent. Hugh paused for a few seconds, gazed steadily at Sherman, and then pressed his lips together firmly, saying only, "Very well..." She didn't linger. She reached out, opened the glass window of the carriage, and leaped out with the same eager rush as before. Sherman watched the entire scene in silence, finally taking a deep, long breath, then sinking slowly into her seat, as though drained of all strength. She had finally managed to hold back the demon within. At that very moment, she noticed a figure swiftly taking shape on the opposite side of the carriage, appearing out of nowhere. The figure wore a solemn, deep black gown, yet neither the demeanor nor the grace of her features was diminished in the slightest. Simply sitting there, silent, she held the attention of everyone, utterly captivating. The witch Trist! "Why didn't you kill her?" Trist asked, her smile free of any shadow, as if simply chatting about what wine she had drunk last night. "She, she—she's one of the few people in the past who haven't discriminated against me, who have actually helped me..." Sherman stammered, visibly startled, then furrowed her brow and asked, "Why did you end up here?" Trist smiled gently. "I'm protecting you." Before Sherman could respond, she continued: "Your mood when you came out seemed quite pleasant." Sherman recalled the events before, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Maybe... perhaps... I might have the chance to become a mother..." She reached her right hand toward her abdomen, her lips subtly pulling to either side. "I feel him kicking me—kicking me..." Sherman suddenly paused, her voice filled with astonishment. "How could this be so soon?" She wasn't even certain today would be the day she would conceive! Watching her reaction, Trist smiled with even greater charm.