The carriage came to a stop outside Scotland Yard.
Charlotte pushed the door open and strode into the station without hesitation. A guard at the entrance tried to block her, but then he heard Lestrade's order.
"Let her in."
Just like that, Charlotte walked straight through and headed directly for the interrogation rooms.
Under Lestrade's arrangement, she met the first suspect.
It was the one with all four limbs shot through—who'd also been frightened into passing out by Russell last night.
Charlotte sat behind the one-way glass, arms folded, one leg crossed over the other.
Russell sat on the other side with a sheet of paper and a pen Lestrade had provided.
"Name," Charlotte said.
The moment her voice fell, Charles's body jerked violently.
He didn't answer. His lips trembled as if he were still trapped in last night's incomprehensible nightmare.
"I asked for your name." Charlotte repeated.
Still no reply.
He just lifted his head and stared—like he was staring at a monster—straight past Charlotte and at Russell behind her.
"Face… the face was melting…"
He muttered like a madman, repeating the same sentence over and over.
"The face was melting…"
Russell's pen-spinning paused for the briefest instant.
Did this guy recognize me?
"He doesn't seem all there," Russell suggested. "Should we switch to another?"
"Wait." Charlotte shook her head, eyes locked on the man behind the glass.
"Charles Brown. Former army corporal. Discharged for drunken brawling. That's your name."
"I'll change the question. Last night—other than your idiot partners—who did you see? The one who put all of you on the floor… who was he?"
Charles continued struggling, mumbling the same broken phrase.
Until Charlotte's voice cut in again:
"It was Moriarty, wasn't it?"
The instant the name was spoken, Charles froze.
The interrogation room dropped into dead silence.
Then—a scream of pure terror ripped it apart.
Charles thrashed, surging up from the chair—only to be yanked back down by the restraints.
[From Charles's fear, Malice +50]
"...." Russell forced his expression to stay calm.
"Devil! He's a devil!!" Charles howled.
"Don't come near me! Don't come near me!!"
Charlotte's face hardened completely.
She flicked her hand, signaling Lestrade to remove him—and they brought in the next one.
The second man was Jack, the one Russell had kneed so hard he'd cracked teeth.
His mental state was far better, though the fear in his eyes was still impossible to hide as he stared at the one-way glass.
"Name."
"Jack Harris." This time, he answered.
"Who sent you last night?"
"The Professor."
"The Professor?" Charlotte repeated. "A codename?"
"Yes." Jack nodded, voice rasping. "We only know him as the Professor. No one knows his real name."
"What does he look like?"
"No one's ever seen him."
Charlotte fell silent for a moment, then continued.
"Go on. Every detail. Everything about how he contacted you."
Jack's face twisted with conflict, but in the end, he chose cooperation.
Over the next half hour, he laid out everything he knew about the Professor—start to finish.
From the first letter that appeared out of nowhere five days ago, to the daily letters that refined the plan step by step.
"The letters?" Charlotte asked.
"Burned." Jack swallowed. "The boss burned them."
"You trusted him that easily?"
"You don't understand what the Professor means." Jack's voice rose with a kind of reverence. "His plans don't have flaws!"
"He arranged every link, every timing point—perfectly.
If… if not for that bastard showing up…"
"That bastard?" Charlotte pounced on the phrase. "Who?"
"Moriarty." Jack visibly hesitated on the name.
"What did he do?" Charlotte pressed.
"He was like a ghost…" Jack's gaze unfocused as if he'd fallen back into the memory.
"Smoke—then he was among us… no, behind us… no—everywhere!
We couldn't see him, but we knew he was there."
"What does that mean?" Charlotte's brow furrowed. "He can clone himself?"
"I don't know… but he just—he could appear anywhere we wouldn't expect!" Jack shook his head, voice rising in agitation.
Charlotte didn't interrupt. She simply listened.
In the observation room, Russell's pen drew a swirl of smoke on the page.
"How many of you were there?"
"Five. Plus Richard. Six total."
"Richard?"
"He was the inside man." Jack ground his teeth. "A guard at the bank."
"All six of you got wiped by Moriarty?" Charlotte's tone held open contempt.
Jack's face flushed red, but he couldn't deny it.
"He… he's not human." After a long pause, that was all he managed.
"Then what is he?"
"A monster."
[From Jack's fear, Malice +50]
A third. A fourth.
Charlotte patiently dredged up fragmented information about the Professor and Moriarty from each criminal, piece by piece.
The Professor's outline in her mind grew clearer and clearer:
A planner in the shadows.
Never showing his face, issuing instructions only through letters—like a god above the board, watching every move.
Perfect. Pure. A mind that treated crime as art.
Someone uncomfortably similar to herself.
But Moriarty's "profile" only became more chaotic, more contradictory.
From the criminals' accounts, Charlotte could only list a set of absurd traits:
First—his face melted.
He could summon smoke.
He seemed to have "duplicates."
Beyond that, he was extremely fast, and his combat skills weren't remotely normal.
These subjective, fear-soaked descriptions couldn't be assembled into a coherent person.
They contradicted one another. They reeked of the unreal.
As if what appeared in the underground vault last night wasn't a man—
But an entire army made of devils, ghosts, monsters, and lunatics.
This Moriarty… is like a ghost.
Charlotte frowned.
She decided to stop chasing the thief-shaped shadow for now and focus on the Professor instead.
At least the Professor still sounded like a person.
"Why did the Professor send you to hit Lloyds Bank?" Charlotte asked the man behind the glass.
"What?" The man frowned. "How would I know? The Professor has his reasons."
"No." Charlotte's gaze sharpened. "Think."
His first move after returning wasn't bombing Parliament. Not arson. Not murder. Not smuggling.
He specifically chose the underground vault.
Why?"
"..." The man fell silent.
"Other than the plan itself, didn't he tell you to do something?" Charlotte prompted.
The man blinked—then realization hit him.
"I remember! He told us to open one vault-room door… and open one safe inside!"
"Which one?" Charlotte snapped.
"D-don't know." He shook his head. "The letter didn't say which. It only gave the code."
"What was the code?"
"I can't remember! I wasn't the one memorizing it. The lock guy did."
"Who handled the lock?"
"Charles Brown."
....
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