Wednesday gazed at him, her dark pupils seeming to churn with undercurrents. She had to admit that the insight and logic Victor was displaying now were a far cry from his usual madness.
This contrast was more... unsettling, and also more intriguing, than pure lunacy.
"The first scenario has a lower probability," she said slowly, her voice like shattering ice.
"If last night was a ruse, his psychokinesis can't be explained, and his intent to kill me was too genuine." "Therefore," Victor drawled, his smile deepening, "we lean towards the second scenario. The Principal, or someone they've appointed, played the role of 'Rowan' to cover up a murder that's already occurred.
" "A murder that they may or may not have known about, but one that cannot be allowed to be revealed," Wednesday added, her gaze as cold as ice.
Victor picked up the wooden alligator carving again, his fingertips stroking the cool, scaly wood. "It seems," he said softly, his tone carrying a dangerous excitement, "our game has acquired another layer of obstruction.
" Victor watched the rare and subtle agitation on Wednesday's face, born from the fragmented clues.
He saw it a few times, like admiring the intriguing cracks that appeared on a valuable work of art. "Looks like the lady detective's investigation has hit a bit of a snag?" Victor's voice held a hint of teasing.
"Usually at times like these," he drawled, like a magician preparing to reveal his trump card, "the loyal Watson never disappoints his Holmes." He reached into the apparent void, rummaged, and then, with a flourish, pulled out an object – a pair of black-framed glasses.
One lens was shattered, the temple slightly bent, and the frame had a few spots of dried, dark blood that were hard to notice. Wednesday's eyes widened slightly, a flash of genuine surprise crossing her cold pupils.
"Rowan's glasses," she recognized immediately.
"Bingo!" Victor snapped his fingers, and the Symbiote obligingly formed a small, clapping hand on his shoulder.
"A souvenir I picked up last night. How's that? More practical than a chocolate surprise?" This time, Wednesday didn't respond with venomous sarcasm; she also didn't hold back her approval.
She gave Victor a deep, inscrutable look, but one that contained a hint... of appreciation.
"Well done, Watson," her voice remained flat, but the weight behind it made Victor's smile grow brighter.
He extended his hand and carefully took the damaged glasses. The cold metal frame touched his fingertips, and almost instantly, a familiar, uncomfortable buzzing sensation swept over him!
The scene before him distorted, faded, and collapsed!
[Psychic Vision]
She saw Rowan alone in an empty classroom, arguing anxiously with the air, his eyes fanatical and terrified, repeatedly muttering "prophecy," "destruction," "must stop it.
" The scene shifted.
She saw Rowan hiding in the shadows of the academy building, his veins bulging on his forehead, his hands trembling with tension, using his telekinetic ability to painstakingly, bit by bit, dislodge the base of a gargoyle statue!
His target was clearly none other than Wednesday, walking unsuspectingly right below! The scene changed again.
This time, in a dimly lit, musty place filled with the scent of old paper and dust in the non-public section of the library? Rowan rummaged through a bookshelf, his hand trembling as he called out a book, a thick, ancient-looking tome bound in dark purple.
He opened it and carefully tore out a page. The page turned out to be a prophetic illustration depicting Wednesday holding a sword in front of a burning academy!
Just as Rowan closed the book, Wednesday's "vision" suddenly focused!
She clearly saw that on the page before the torn one, there seemed to be a residual shadow of another prophetic image! More importantly, she saw the cover of the purple book, with a clear, unique, elegant yet deadly Nightshade plant embossing.
[Psychic Vision Ends]
Wednesday jerked her hand back. She took a deep breath, her pale face even more bloodless from the mental impact, but her eyes shone bright.
"Found it!" Wednesday said in a low voice, carrying suppressed excitement and icy certainty.
However, this statement didn't echo in the cold air but was spoken in a "background" that was warm, carrying the faint scent of chocolate and the fresh aroma of pine.
The dizziness from the psychic vision receded like the tide, and her real-world senses quickly returned. Wednesday first felt the strong support of an arm holding the back of her head and spine stable.
Dan's chest was almost entirely pressed against someone's torso. The warmth of the body transmitted through the fabric was unmistakable.
She opened her eyes to find Victor's face filling her vision, his eyes, which always sparkled with a mad glint, now holding a hint of concern, but more than that, amusement. "Good morning?" Victor joked, his soft breath caressing her forehead.
"Seriously, next time you decide to have a psychic vision, could you find a safe place to lie down first? Or give me a heads-up so I can put down a mat? At least don't just stand there and fall backwards.
My poor heart can't take the shock." It was only then that Wednesday realized she must have fainted for a moment due to the mental impact of her vision, or at least stumbled backwards, and been caught by Victor.
She quickly recoiled from his embrace as if scalded, straightening up and rapidly creating distance between them, her movements so swift they created a gentle breeze. She quickly adjusted her collar and already tidy hair, trying to erase all traces of the forced close contact.
"I'll consider it," she replied coldly, her tone flat and unruffled, as if she had merely accidentally leaned against a pillar.
However, behind her icy exterior, the organ in her chest was being utterly disobedient, pounding with a strong, fast, and heavy cadence, almost loud enough to deafen her. This strange and uncontrollable physiological reaction gave her a slight pause.
Arrhythmia? Wednesday furrowed her brow in suspicion.
A side effect of the psychic vision? Or some unknown supernatural attack?
She quickly ruled out poisoning and injury, discreetly placing her fingertips on her wrist to measure – the pace was too fast, but the rhythm was regular. Not arrhythmia.
Just... simple acceleration.
Why? Her gaze unconsciously flicked towards Victor's arm, which had just held her, before quickly moving away.
Absurd. She promptly and firmly rejected the entirely illogical association in her mind.
It was undoubtedly due to excessive psychic exertion, a temporary disruption of the sympathetic nervous system. Note to self: monitor and observe.
Administer heart rate regulators if necessary. She forcibly pulled her attention back to the matter at hand, tossing Rowan's glasses back to Victor with a bit more force than necessary, as if she could shed the unexpected interlude along with it.
"The source of that book," she repeated stiffly, attempting to dampen her disturbing heartbeat with information.
"The purple book with a Nightshade watermark, hidden in the non-public section of the library. That's where Rowan got the prophetic painting." She locked eyes with Victor, forcing her gaze to rekindle the spark of the hunt.
"I know what I need to do next," she said, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles on her skirt, almost enthusiastically striding towards the door, trying to leave the momentary loss of control entirely behind.
"Need help, detective lady? I promise to be as quiet as a piece of chocolate – quiet but sweet!" "No," Wednesday rejected quickly, with a hint of finality that was almost imperceptible.
"I'll go alone." She paused, seeming to think her tone was too harsh, and added another icy sentence, more like convincing herself: "More people mean a bigger target. Solo action is better based on the principle of stealth." With that, Wednesday opened the dormitory door and walked out quickly.
She practically hurried down the corridor. The cold air swept across her cheeks but couldn't bring down the mysteriously elevated body temperature or the still slightly irregular heartbeat in her chest.
I need to be alone. She emphasized again in her heart.
I'm too quiet to analyze and eliminate this completely useless physiological disturbance. That warm and solid embrace...
it carried an unusual yet unpleasant aroma... She shook her head sharply, as if she could erase the sensation from her memory.