The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees in an instant.
Russell looked at Mary's eyes, which had regained their vigilance and hostility, and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
"Don't be nervous," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It was just a joke."
"That joke was not funny." Mary's voice was as cold as ice. "If you intend to continue speaking such unnutritious nonsense, then I think we can end this conversation right now."
"Alright, alright. I've actually helped him quite a few times, you know. Like occasionally letting him deliver things to the newspaper offices on Fleet Street to earn some extra cash."
"Is that so?" Mary's voice revealed no emotion.
She lifted her teacup, yet her gaze shot over the rim, locking sharply onto Russell as if trying to take in his every minute movement.
"What I said is naturally true." Russell nodded, then suddenly shifted the topic. "But it seems to me you are quite interested in him?"
Hearing this, the hand Mary used to hold the teacup paused imperceptibly, but she did not choke or lose her composure like an ordinary girl might.
She simply placed the teacup back on the table calmly, her tone indifferent.
"That has nothing to do with you, Mr. Moriarty. He is merely the only guy at Imperial College whom I find somewhat interesting."
She paused, then added, "At least compared to others—especially someone like you."
She paused again, supplementing her thought: "So, please put away your clumsy probing. It only makes you seem cheap."
"Is that really how it is?"
Russell, never one to shy away from stirring up trouble, pressed on despite hitting a wall, clearly unbothered.
However, all he received in return was a roll of the eyes from the young girl, along with ten Malice Points.
"Are you very interested in other people's gossip?" Mary asked impatiently, snatching back the initiative in the conversation. "Up until now, you still haven't answered my question."
"What question?"
"Why do you want to be a Phantom Thief?" Mary pressed, as if she wouldn't rest until she got an answer. "Is this Mycroft's will, or... your own idea?"
"Hmm... let's just say it's me. Just out of interest."
"Just out of interest..." Mary chewed on the phrase, her eyes filled with disbelief.
Russell withdrew his gaze from the teacup and turned toward the window.
The rain had stopped at some point. The dark clouds had dispersed, and a waning moon hung in the sky, sprinkling its cold, clear radiance over the earth.
"Alright, it's getting late. A lady should rest."
As he spoke, he turned and walked toward the open French window.
"Wait!" Mary stood up subconsciously. "I have one last question."
"Curiosity is the key to the truth, but sometimes it also opens Pandora's Box." Russell stopped and looked back at her.
"Why did you return the items?" Mary met the gaze of the mask's eyeholes, as if staring directly into his eyes. "This couldn't possibly be Mycroft's will. Why would you do this?"
Faced with this question, Russell fell into a brief silence.
The moonlight and the firelight from the fireplace converged upon him—half in light, half in darkness. He stood there quietly, saying not a word, like a statue lost in deep contemplation.
Mary did not rush him; she simply waited patiently.
She knew that this answer might be the key to piercing through all his disguises.
After an unknown amount of time, he finally spoke, his tone still light and carrying that infuriating casualness typical of a Phantom Thief.
"Out of interest, of course. What else?"
As his voice fell, he prepared to turn away.
There was not a trace of attachment, as if the brief confrontation just now, those mischievous probes, were nothing more than an impromptu pastime.
"Stand still."
Mary's voice rang out again.
Russell's movements froze. Half of his body was already leaning out the window, immersed in the cold night, while only the mask he turned back remained illuminated by the warm firelight of the room.
"Endless entanglement is not behavior befitting a lady."
"That is not the answer," Mary said. "I don't want to hear clichés from a stage play; I want to hear the real answer."
"This is the real answer, Miss Morstan," Russell said.
"Do you find this world... interesting?"
He asked a question similar to one Charlotte might ask, yet entirely different.
"Boring to the extreme," she said. "Like a third-rate play. The script is shoddy, the actors are hypocritical. Everyone wears a mask and recites lines they don't mean."
"Exactly." Russell was noncommittal. "Boring to the extreme."
He paused, then stepped onto the windowsill with both feet, facing Mary, with the night sky behind his back.
"That is why we need some impromptu programs to add a little surprise or flavor to life, isn't it? Why be so serious?"
Under the young girl's gaze, he bowed slightly, performing an elegant salute like an actor about to exit the stage.
"Well then, goodnight, beautiful lady."
Having said this, he raised both hands and let his entire body fall backward, plummeting into the night.
Mary was stunned for a second, then immediately reacted, rushing forward to look down.
The Phantom Thief's figure had vanished into the night at some point, as if he had never appeared at all. It was just like a drop of water merging into a bottomless ocean.
Mary stood by the window, unmoving for a long time.
The night wind, curling with residual rain, blew through her long silver hair. The cold touch made her mind increasingly clear.
That guy...
She slowly withdrew her gaze, her eyes landing on the two cups of black tea on the coffee table that had barely been touched.
One of them had not been touched from beginning to end; even its position had never changed.
The flames in the fireplace had dimmed at some unknown time, leaving only scarlet embers stubbornly flickering with their last light in the darkness.
Mary slowly closed the window, shutting out the cold from the outside world.
She walked to the coffee table, picked up the cup of completely cold black tea that belonged to the guest, and casually poured it into a potted plant nearby, allowing the greenery to enjoy the rare taste of high-quality black tea.
Next, the young girl's gaze fell upon the plate of cookies.
Her brows furrowed slightly, and then she leaned down and began to count.
A total of four pieces.
Considering caloric and sugar intake, Mary would only have the servants prepare six cookies each time.
Six cookies, accompanied by a pot of black tea, was just right for her.
And during that fireside chat just now, she had only eaten one.
Normally, there should have been five left, but now there were only four.
Mary's fingertips hovered over the white porcelain plate holding the cookies, not descending.
In her mind, she began to replay everything that had just happened.
His movement of picking up the cookie.
His fingertips holding the edge of that butter cookie—very steady, without any superfluous trembling.
The existence of the mask made it impossible for him to put it into his mouth; this was an obvious physical obstacle.
He put it back into the plate, his movements casual, his gaze not even lingering on it for more than a second.
The entire process was seamless.
When did it happen...?
Was it when he was brushing her off with that theory about 'interest'?
Or was it when he stood up and walked to the window, blocking her view with his tall back?
Or perhaps, was it the moment she instantly lost her composure because of his frivolous revenge?
No.
None of them.
Mary slowly closed her eyes.
The gates to her Mind Palace crashed open, and countless fragmented shots flashed, reorganized, and arranged themselves at high speed within.
Finally, the image froze on the instant she pointed out his relationship with Mycroft.
Everything happened in that fleeting instant.
Just as she was feeling complacent about that small counterattack, focusing her attention on his mask and those unnatural little movements...
A cookie on the table had vanished without her noticing.
"Fast hands, indeed."
The young girl couldn't help but let out a cold sneer.
She glanced back at the bright moon outside the window, as if speaking softly to herself, yet also addressing the Phantom Thief who had already gone far away, her voice laced with annoyance and competitiveness.
"Next time, I will personally take off that annoying mask of yours."
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