Wednesday stared at him, dark undercurrents swirling in her deep pupils.
She had to admit, the insight and logic Victor was displaying right now were worlds apart from his usual madness.
This contrast was more... alarming, and more intriguing, than simple insanity.
"The first possibility is low," she said slowly, her voice like chipping ice. "If the one last night was a fake, his telekinesis cannot be explained, and his killing intent toward me was too real."
"So," Victor continued, his smile deepening, "we lean toward the second scenario. The Principal, or someone she appointed, played the role of 'Rowan' to cover up a murder that has already happened."
"A murder they might have known about, or perhaps didn't, but absolutely cannot allow to be exposed," Wednesday added, her eyes cold.
Victor picked up the crocodile carving again, his fingertips stroking its cold wooden scales.
"It seems," he whispered, a dangerous excitement in his tone, "our game has encountered another obstacle."
Victor noticed the rare, subtle irritation on Wednesday's face due to the broken trail of clues.
He took a few extra glances, like admiring an interesting crack in a precious work of art.
"It seems our Miss Detective has hit a little snag in her investigation?" Victor's voice held a trace of mockery.
"Usually at times like this," he drawled leisurely, like a magician about to reveal his trump card, "a loyal Watson would never let his Holmes down."
He reached his hand into Venom's body—which seemed capable of holding anything—rummaged around for a moment, and then triumphantly pulled something out.
A pair of black-rimmed glasses.
One lens was shattered, the temple was bent, and there were even a few dried, blackened spots of blood on the frame that were hard to spot.
Wednesday's eyes widened slightly. A flash of genuine surprise passed through her cold pupils.
"Rowan's glasses." She recognized them immediately.
"Bingo!" Victor snapped his fingers. Venom cooperated by morphing a small hand on his shoulder that applauded. "A souvenir I picked up last night. How about it? Is this more practical than a chocolate-flavored surprise?"
This time, Wednesday didn't offer a biting retort, nor was she stingy with her approval.
She gave Victor a deep look. The gaze was complex, but it definitely contained a trace of... appreciation.
"Well done, Watson." Her voice remained flat, but the weight behind it made Victor's smile brighten a few degrees.
She reached out and carefully took the broken glasses.
The moment her fingertips touched the cold metal frame, the familiar, uncomfortable buzzing sensation swept over her!
The dorm room before her eyes twisted, faded, and collapsed instantly!
[Psychic Vision]
She saw Rowan alone in an empty classroom, arguing excitedly with the air. His eyes were fanatical and fearful, repeatedly muttering "prophecy," "destruction," and "must stop her."
The scene shifted. She saw Rowan hiding in the shadows of the academy building, veins popping on his forehead, hands trembling with exertion, using his telekinesis to painstakingly pry loose the base of that stone gargoyle!
His target was clear—Wednesday, passing below, completely unaware!
The scene changed again. This time, it was somewhere dimly lit, the air smelling of old paper and dust—a restricted library section?
Rowan sneakily approached a dense bookshelf. Trembling, he reached out and summoned a book—a heavy volume with a deep purple cover and archaic binding.
He opened the book and carefully tore out a page. On that page was the prophecy drawing of Wednesday standing with a sword amidst the burning academy!
Just as Rowan closed the book, Wednesday's "vision" snapped into focus! She clearly saw that on the page preceding the torn one, there seemed to be a ghost image of another prophecy drawing!
More importantly, she saw the cover of that deep purple book. Embossed on it was a clear, unique watermark—a Nightshade flower, elegant yet deadly.
[Vision Ends]
Wednesday yanked her hand back. She took a deep breath. Her pale face was even more bloodless from the psychic shock, but her eyes were startlingly bright.
"Found it!" Wednesday whispered, her voice filled with suppressed excitement and cold certainty.
However, this declaration didn't ring out in the cold air, but was muffled against a "background wall" that was warm and smelled faintly of sweet chocolate and fresh pine.
The dizziness of the vision receded like a tide, and her senses of reality returned rapidly.
The first thing Wednesday felt was the steady strength of a solid arm supporting her head and back.
And... almost her entire upper body was leaning against someone's chest.
The body heat transmitted through the fabric was abnormally clear.
She snapped her eyes open. Filling her vision was Victor's magnified face.
He was looking down at her. Those eyes, usually dancing with manic light, now held some lingering concern, but mostly a playful smile.
"Good morning?" Victor joked, his breath lightly brushing her forehead.
"Seriously, next time you decide to have a vision, can you find a safe place to lie down first? Or notify me in advance to put down a mat? At least don't just fall straight backward while standing. My little heart can't take this kind of surprise."
Only then did Wednesday realize that after the vision ended, the mental shock had caused her to faint momentarily, or at least stumble backward, and Victor had caught her perfectly.
She immediately struggled upright from his arms as if scalded, rapidly putting distance between them. Her movements were so fast they whipped up a small breeze.
She quickly straightened her collar and hair, which hadn't been messy at all, trying to erase all traces of the forced close contact.
"I will consider it."
She answered coldly, her tone flat and unwavering, as if she had just accidentally leaned against a pillar.
However, beneath her icy, calm exterior, the organ in her chest was behaving extremely disobediently, beating violently. Thump-thump, thump-thump. The fast, heavy rhythm was so clear it almost deafened her own ears.
This strange, uncontrolled physiological reaction made her pause slightly.
Arrhythmia? Wednesday frowned internally with suspicion. Is this a side effect of the vision? Or some unknown supernatural attack?
She quickly ruled out poisoning or injury, quietly placing her fingertips on her wrist to measure—the rate was too fast, but the rhythm was regular.
Not arrhythmia. Just... simple acceleration.
Why?
Her gaze subconsciously darted to the arm Victor had just used to hold her, then quickly looked away.
Ridiculous.
She immediately refuted this illogical association sternly in her mind. It must be due to excessive consumption from the vision causing temporary dysregulation of the sympathetic nervous system.
Need to record and observe. Take heart rate regulation medication if necessary.
She forcibly dragged her attention back to business. She tossed Rowan's glasses back to Victor, deliberately adding a bit of force to the movement, as if this could throw away that unexpected interlude as well.
"The source of that book," she repeated stiffly, trying to cover the annoying heartbeat with information. "A purple book with a Nightshade watermark, hidden in a restricted library section. That is where Rowan got the prophecy drawing."
She looked at Victor, forcing her eyes to re-condense the fire of the hunt.
"I know what to do next." She smoothed out non-existent wrinkles on her dress and walked toward the door almost impatiently, trying to leave those few seconds of loss of control completely behind.
"Need help, Miss Detective? I promise to be as quiet as a chocolate bar—silent but sweet!"
"No," Wednesday refused quickly, with a trace of imperceptible finality. "I can do it alone."
She paused, seemingly feeling her tone was too harsh, and added coldly, more to convince herself:
"More people means a bigger target. Solo action aligns better with principles of stealth."
With that, Wednesday opened the dorm door and walked out quickly.
She practically speed-walked down the corridor.
The cold air brushed her cheeks, but it couldn't lower her inexplicably elevated body temperature or the still somewhat disordered heartbeat in her chest.
I need to be alone.
She emphasized again in her heart. I need absolute silence to analyze and isolate this useless physiological interference.
That embrace...
That warm, solid embrace with the weird but not unpleasant scent...
She shook her head violently, as if she could shake that sensation out of her memory.