Mystery: Gray Walker

Chapter 145

Green stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and stood up.

"I'm going out for a bit," Green said.

"Where are you going? Nowhere is safe right now," Alvin asked, puzzled.

"My aunt's house," Green said, frowning. "I feel like these things are happening in such a concentrated period of time. Although they all seem unrelated, isn't it too much of a coincidence?"

"There might still be clues we missed at the scene. More importantly, I can't understand why it had to be her."

Alvin frowned. "But have you considered the potential danger of going back?"

"Have you forgotten what path I take?" Green glanced at Alvin. "Don't worry, I'll run away immediately if there's any danger."

Alvin looked at Green, his lips twitching slightly beneath the bandages, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just nodded.

"Be careful, apprentice." Running away through the door is fast, but don't forget, some traps are specifically designed to target teleportation.

And if the other party is really monitoring that place—”

"I understand," Green interrupted him. "That's why we need to go even more. If there are traps there, it means there's still something they haven't taken or destroyed."

After saying that, he pushed the door open, then stopped in his tracks. "Don't tell Clarice."

Alvin watched Green's figure disappear through the door, opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing.

Green did not choose to leave through the front or back entrance of the nursing home.

He walked around to a secluded storage room on the side of the building, and after confirming that no one was around, his spirituality fluctuated slightly, and a phantom door...

A door, shimmering with a pale silver luster, silently outlined and solidified before him. He reached out and pushed the door open, his figure disappearing inside. The door then vanished like ripples on water, leaving no trace.

When Green appeared in a dark alley near Hayes’s house, the damp, musty smell and the sour stench of garbage hit him, a stark contrast to the smell of disinfectant in the nursing home.

Green waited a while, and after confirming that the surroundings were safe, he slowly blended into the wall.

When he crawled out of the wall of his aunt's house, a young girl was sitting on the sofa, which should have been empty.

"Lillian?!" Green exclaimed in surprise.

Lillian was holding a steaming cup of black tea, as if she were the owner of the house.

She wore a dark blue long dress, different from the one she wore last time, with silver, intricate and mysterious patterns embroidered on the hem, resembling circuit boards.

Upon hearing Green's voice, she looked up, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Mr. Green, would you like a cup? Your aunt's Ceylon tea collection is of very good quality."

She gently swirled the bone china teacup in her hand. "Don't worry, I didn't poison it, nor did I steal its flavor—at least not this one."

Green remained vigilant, his spiritual awareness subtly spreading as he sensed whether there were any ambushes or traps inside the house.

All they could sense was the familiar aura emanating from Lillian.

"What are you doing here?" Green asked in a deep voice, his body slightly tense, ready to activate "open the door" or merge into the wall at any moment.

"I’m waiting for you."

Lillian set down her teacup with an elegant air. "Wait for me?" Green didn't approach, his gaze sweeping across the living room. The scene remained in a state of initial cleanup, but some minor mess was still visible.

How did you know I would come?

"Deduction, Mr. Green, simple deduction."

Lillian gently tapped her temple with her fingertip. "An apprentice, concerned for their family, caught in the eye of the storm yet lacking information," what's the most likely thing to do after a series of setbacks? Of course, they'd go back to where it all began, searching for the overlooked details. That's human nature, and the most common action pattern for a novice.

She paused, a hint of amusement in her smile: "Of course, I also borrowed a little of your attachment to this place."

It was very mild, but enough for me to arrive early, brew some tea, and wait for you. After all, it's very clean here now, a good place for a conversation.

Green felt a chill run down his spine.

The opponent's use of "wrong" methods is more sophisticated and harder to defend against than he imagined.

Stealing such an ethereal concept as "attachment"? This is something that only a Sequence 6 "Fire Thief" or even a higher sequence can reliably accomplish.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Green asked directly, while simultaneously diverting a portion of his spiritual energy to subtly sense the "Seagull" badge in his pocket. The badge remained cold and unresponsive.

"We talk about cooperation, survival, and also—a corner of the truth."

Lillian leaned forward slightly. "I know you want to know two things most right now: First, who attacked this place, killed your aunt, and tried to implant an anchor in your sister Leah's spirit? Second, what does the person behind it all, the one who orchestrated it, or rather, who used it all, want from you?"

1

"You know the answer?" Green's voice turned cold.

"I know part of it, and I suspect that what I know is related to the 'Seagull' you're investigating."

Lillian's words were like a key, instantly tightening all of Green's nerves.

How did she know?

The Night's Watch has only just begun investigating this matter, and it's impossible for anyone outside the team to mention it. How did Lillian find out?

Was it by "stealing" his or Erwin's thoughts? Or was she herself intricately connected to this clue?

Lillian's release of this information was both a display of leverage and a dangerous test.

She was telling Green: Your secret is not unknown to anyone.

Green remained silent, waiting for her to continue—a silent form of pressure.

However, Lillian abruptly changed the subject, "But Mr. Grin, you still haven't completed the 'Garden of Bloom' mission, and the higher-ups are already expressing their dissatisfaction with me. I provided you with the 'Apprentice' potion, and also gave you some—"

An extra tip: your progress is truly worrying.

The sudden change of topic startled Green, as he had almost forgotten about it.

Green nodded. "I know that. But you should also know that recent events have kept me almost completely tied up. Investigations, protection—everything is consuming my time and energy."

He paused for a moment, then said, "Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll go to the History and Archaeology Society. I'll give you a satisfactory explanation."

.

Lillian seemed satisfied with the answer; she put down her teacup and stood up gracefully.

"Okay, then I'll wait for your good news."

She walked lightly towards the door. "I'll come back here to wait for you tomorrow night. I hope we can talk about something more then—"

—Substantive content.

Her hand was already on the doorknob, but she suddenly stopped, without turning around. "By the way, I think you won't tell Clarice—that you saw me here, right?"

The question was asked lightly, yet it contained a clear warning. She was drawing a line and testing Green's "sincerity in cooperation." Revealing this to the Night's Watch, especially to Clarice who seemed to have a grudge against Lillian, would undoubtedly disrupt the current fragile balance.

The next morning, Oberhafen Harbour was shrouded in a thin layer of gray fog, and the cries of seagulls pierced through the fog, carrying a damp, salty smell.

Green pushed open the familiar wooden door to the office in the basement.

Anaïs was bent over the filing cabinet, sorting stacks of files into categories. Hearing the door open, she immediately turned around, her face showing a mixture of exhaustion and excitement.

"Mr. Morris, you've arrived!" She hurried forward, her voice brimming with undisguised joy. "I was just about to tell you—I feel that my spirituality has—strengthened considerably. Last night I tried meditating according to the methods mentioned in my grandfather's notes, and those previously vague symbols and concepts seem to have become clearer."

As she spoke, her cheeks flushed slightly, as if she were sharing a remarkable secret, yet also a little embarrassed.

Looking into her eyes, at the gleam of a "peeping eye"—a thirst for knowledge born of instinct—Green felt a slight sense of relief. At least, amidst the successive blows and chaos, there were still people striving forward, grasping at the sliver of hope for growth.

"That's a good thing, Anna." He nodded, his tone gentle. "But remember, take it slow and don't rush. Feeling clear is the first step, but understanding and control are key."

"Yes, I understand." Anaïs nodded vigorously, then, as if remembering something, added, "Oh, right, Supervisor Henry—no, I should call him Director Henry now—he came by this morning."

Green raised an eyebrow: "What did he say?"

Anaïs shook her head: "He didn't say anything special. He just came to check on things, and when he saw you weren't here, he asked if you'd been coming often lately. I told him you'd been busy with family matters and hadn't been coming much. He just said 'oh,' and didn't ask any more questions, but his expression—he didn't seem very happy."

"You're not happy about being promoted to bureau chief?"

Green walked to the fireplace; the fire had gone out, and the room was rather chilly. He skillfully rekindled the firewood, lost in thought.

"I find it strange too." Anaïs walked to his side and lowered her voice. "Logically speaking, being promoted from supervisor to director, especially in a powerful department like the Port Authority, should be a huge cause for celebration. But he seems—deeply preoccupied, even a bit—"

Anxiety. I've been around him and could feel that intense, suppressed unease.

Green watched the leaping flames, their orange-red light reflecting on his face.

Henry was certainly not happy.

Although the Fairfax estate tragedy was officially classified as an "accidental fire," almost all of the port authority's top officials were captured. Henry was able to become the director not because of his outstanding abilities, but because he was one of the few high-ranking officials who survived and had no direct connection (at least not publicly) to the "accident."

This position is now a hot potato.

The city hall, the chamber of commerce, and even the church—countless eyes are on him. He has to clean up the mess left by the tragedy, balance the various forces, and constantly worry that the truth behind that "accident" might suddenly explode one day and devour him, the "lucky one," as well.

More importantly, Green knew that Henry's deep-seated fear of the extraordinary world had not dissipated. The higher he climbed, the more secrets he might come into contact with, and the greater the danger. This director's seat, for him, was probably more like a chair firmly tied to the eye of a storm.

"He's not unhappy," Green said casually, poking at the firewood with the tongs. "He's scared."

Anaïs nodded, seemingly understanding, but didn't press further. She now realized that some things are better left unknown.

"Mr. Morris, is there any purpose for your visit today?" She changed the subject, her tone becoming more efficient again.

Green straightened up and dusted off his hands. "Well, I'm going to the History and Archaeology Society. You're coming with me."

Anaïs's eyes lit up, then she became a little nervous: "Now?"

"Hmm." Green walked to his desk, took out a notebook and the "Seagull" badge from the drawer, and said, "I've accepted a commission."

He glanced at Anaïs: "Your grandfather's relationship with Mrs. Elliott is our key. Today, we need permission from her to access the Society's archives, or at least some clear guidance."

"I understand." Anaïs took a deep breath, trying to appear calm. "I will do my best to cooperate with you."

"Relax, just like at the last dinner party," Green encouraged, then glanced at his pocket watch. "We're leaving in an hour. Get ready and think about how to naturally bring up the matter of accessing the files with Mrs. Elliott."

"Yes, sir."

Anaïs turned and walked to her cubicle to change into more formal and appropriate clothes for going out.

Before long, she changed into a simple dark gray wool dress, covered with a thick wool coat of the same color, and carefully combed her hair again.

She put a small notebook and a pen into her handbag, ready to take notes.

Green straightened his clothes, and the two left the port authority's underground office quietly without alerting anyone.

Pedestrians hurried along the streets, and horse-drawn carriages rumbled by; everything seemed no different from usual.

Anaïs raised her hand and skillfully stopped a passing public carriage. The driver was a taciturn middle-aged man with his hat pulled low.

Anaïs gave the address: "Go downtown, to the History and Archaeology Institute, near the conference building."

The driver nodded and didn't ask any further questions.

The two boarded the carriage, which was filled with the smell of old leather and tobacco.

The wheels began to roll, grinding over the cobblestone road, carrying them away from the port area and towards the political and cultural center of Oberhafen.

The carriage wound its way through the increasingly bustling streets, where the buildings had transformed from warehouses and workshops into banks, shops, and law firms. The pedestrians were also noticeably more well-dressed. Green gazed out the window at the rapidly receding scenery, his mind racing.

The Historical and Archaeological Society—a seemingly uncontroversial academic institution—has apparently become the focus of attention for various forces.

The bustling garden seems impatient; what's making them so anxious?

"Mr. Morris," Anaïs said softly, interrupting Green's thoughts, "we've arrived."