After a moment of shock and confusion, Charlotte's memories gradually resurfaced.
She recalled many events, but could not connect this sudden heartbeat to any of them.
Exactly when did it begin?
Was it during the mock interview, when he asked her about the criteria for choosing a partner?
Or when she saw her reflection in the mirror wearing his clothes?
Or when their eyes met in the carriage?
Or… even earlier?
Charlotte's brain worked at a speed ordinary people could never match.
She eliminated all interfering factors, deduced all possibilities, and even verified every hypothesis.
In the end, she reached a conclusion.
She instinctively did not want to accept that conclusion. She rejected it so strongly that she unconsciously denied it.
It couldn't be. It was a mistaken deduction, a deviation caused by insufficient existing conditions.
Using such a vague, unscientific concept as a conclusion was itself an insult to her logical thinking ability.
What should it be?
Could it be a form of dependency?
Yes, dependency.
Because he could make breakfast, brew coffee, and handle trivial matters she found troublesome.
This was a functional dependency, unrelated to emotions.
However, functional dependency does not generate aversion when one thinks, "What if it were a different assistant?"
Functional dependency is based on function, not on the person.
So… is it possessiveness?
Because he was her assistant, she had grown accustomed to his presence and did not want to accept change.
This was normal—an instinctive trait of living beings preferring a stable environment. It had nothing to do with emotions.
But people don't feel instinctive aversion when Mary Morstan scribbles in her notebook.
What else could it be…?
Charlotte's thoughts fell into a vicious cycle.
For every conclusion she reached, her brain automatically identified its flaws and refuted them.
Just as she did when handling cases, she eliminated every wrong path until only the correct answer remained.
But this time the situation was slightly different.
This time, every path was blocked—every single one.
Only one door remained.
But it was a door she absolutely did not want to open, had no intention of opening, and did not even have the courage to open.
The interview room had been silent for far too long.
Miles and Henry exchanged glances, unsure how to break the awkward, prolonged silence.
They had no choice but to rely on the only person who might resolve this impasse—Russell—and seek his help.
Russell lightly shook his head, indicating there was no need to rush.
His gaze was fixed on Charlotte. Her eyelashes still trembled ever so slightly, once or twice.
Like a butterfly trapped in a glass jar, constantly fluttering its wings yet unable to find a way out.
Russell showed no sign of urgency. He said nothing, merely signaling the two with a gesture.
Please wait a little longer.
After a while, Miles glanced at his pocket watch.
Ten minutes had passed.
Finally, Charlotte responded.
She looked up at Miles, her lips parting slightly before closing again.
She lowered her eyes, picked up the now-cold cup of tea, and brought it to her lips.
The bitterness of the tea spread across her tongue. She furrowed her brows slightly, then set the teacup down.
"Let's have another cup."
Russell said, "This glass is cold."
Hearing this, Charlotte glanced at him.
The glance was so brief it was almost negligible.
In that instant, Russell saw something flicker in her eyes.
It was like a flash of light crossing the surface of a lake—clearly visible one moment, gone the next.
"No need."
Charlotte said, then turned back to Miles.
"What did you just say?"
Miles paused for a moment, then quickly asked, "I… what do you think of Mr. Watson?"
"Oh."
Charlotte nodded.
Silence returned once more.
This silence was much shorter than before—only two or three seconds.
But during those two or three seconds, her gaze moved incredibly busily.
It first moved from Miles's face to Russell's face, then from Russell's face to the lively crowd on Fleet Street outside the window.
"If this question is difficult to answer…" Miles began, trying to change the subject.
"No, it's not necessary."
Charlotte opened her mouth and cut him off.
This time there was no silence. The girl answered clearly and decisively.
"He is a troublemaker."
Charlotte said quietly.
"A necessary problem."
"A necessary trouble?"
Miles wrote the words in his notebook.
This phrase reminded him of many things.
"Yes."
Charlotte nodded.
"Just like when preparing complex chemical reagents, a catalyst is always necessary."
She explained.
"It may not participate in the final reaction itself and may even introduce uncontrollable variables."
But without it, the entire experiment could not be conducted.
"I see…" Miles nodded thoughtfully.
"Well then… next question."
The interview continued.
The sunlight slowly moved across the interview room—from the sofa to the coffee table, from the coffee table to the wall, and finally landing on the potted plant in the corner, framing each leaf with a warm golden edge.
Russell continued answering questions, his tone calm and his wording appropriate.
Charlotte occasionally offered concise, to-the-point remarks.
Everything seemed no different from before.
But if one looked closely, one would notice that the tips of Charlotte's ears still retained a very faint pink hue.
That pink was so pale it was almost invisible, shimmering faintly in the light like a carefully hidden secret.
Moreover—
She had not read Russell's work since then.
Not even once.
By the time the interview ended, it was already noon.
After the interview photo session concluded, today's event was over.
Miles closed his notebook, let out a sigh of relief, and couldn't hide his excitement.
"Thank you both so much! This interview is going to be really interesting!"
Henry also stood up, a proud smile on his face.
"Thank you both for taking the time for the interview today," he said, extending his hand.
"If you're not in a hurry, there's a nice restaurant downstairs. We could have a meal and chat…"
"No need."
Charlotte stood up and refused outright.
Russell glanced at her, then stood up as well.
"Another time, Mr. Henry. We have other plans this afternoon."
"That's truly a shame."
Henry said, though his face showed little disappointment.
He personally escorted the two downstairs, exchanging polite words along the way, and saw them off as they left the newspaper office.
Russell stood at the entrance, watching Charlotte.
She stood two steps ahead of him, her back turned. The hem of her black coat swayed in the wind, then settled again.
"Where to next?"
Russell asked.
Charlotte did not answer.
She stood with her back to him, motionless.
A few seconds later, she suddenly raised her hand and touched the tip of her ear.
Then she lowered her hand and turned around.
"You didn't want to buy clothes?"
She said in a flat voice, "Let's go."
She walked past him toward the street corner.
Russell paused for a moment, then quickly followed.
"What were you thinking about just now?"
He asked.
"Nothing."
"Really?"
Charlotte stopped, turned to look at him, then looked away and continued walking.
"I was thinking about a case."
She said.
"What kind of case?"
"A case I cannot reach a conclusion on at this moment."
…
…
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