The night grew deeper.
The post-rain evening carried a chill that seemed to penetrate the very marrow of one's bones.
Dark, heavy clouds shrouded the Morstan Estate in a cold, deathly silence.
Mary sat in her room, cupping a warm black tea, with a copy of today's morning paper on the desk.
The young girl expressionlessly sipped the warm tea bit by bit, yet that reassuring temperature could not dispel the coldness in the depths of her heart.
The bold, thick font on the front page of The Times seemed filled with irony in her eyes.
It silently declared one thing, a thing that made her feel despair and helplessness:
The plan had failed.
The item she wanted had not been brought out.
All her efforts over the past week had been in vain.
Her desperate, all-or-nothing attempt had ultimately yielded no results.
According to the original plan, that group should have successfully attacked the underground storage room of Lloyds Bank and found the Morstan family's safe.
Then, they would have taken the commercial documents and various bonds and securities inside.
Among those items were contracts the Morstan family had signed with Ethan Roy before his downfall.
Although, socially speaking, these contracts had held no economic value from the moment the Roy family fell, legally, they still possessed validity.
Therefore, Mary had intended to orchestrate an attack, letting those people take the items, and then announce it to the world through The Times. To minimize the commotion, she had even specifically provided a plan that would cause almost no casualties.
Immediately after, Duke Morstan would seize this opportunity to claim compensation from Lloyds Bank on the grounds of property loss.
At that time, according to Lloyds Bank's compensation agreement, they would not only need to compensate an amount equivalent to those bond contracts but also pay an additional indemnity.
According to the girl's estimation, this sum would be at least six figures, perhaps even higher.
And to ensure that the major client, the Morstan family, continued to support and trust them, Lloyds Bank would also customize a plan with a substantial interest rate for them.
This was her idea of turning waste into treasure.
Using a pile of waste paper that was almost impossible to generate economic value to exchange for a sum of cash sufficient to help the family survive its current crisis.
The plan was perfect.
At least, until that damned variable named [Moriarty] appeared.
Mary picked up the newspaper, watching as the reporter used the most exaggerated brushstrokes to depict the Phantom Thief Moriarty as a Midnight Phantom strolling idly through a hail of bullets.
With his own strength alone, he thwarted a shocking robbery targeting Lloyds Bank, becoming the [blessing amidst misfortunes] in the mouth of Scotland Yard.
How ironic.
Someone else's blessing was her own misfortune.
Mary subconsciously tightened her grip on the newspaper, an impulse to tear it to shreds rising in her heart.
But in the end, she suppressed this agitation, merely tossing the newspaper into the fireplace, letting it burn to ash to add a touch of warmth to the room.
She drained the black tea in her cup, then scratched her hair with some irritation.
The moment the newspaper came out, her father had already called to confirm.
The person in charge at the bank vowed solemnly that nothing had been stolen, and even praised Moriarty over the phone.
Similarly, the newspaper did not publish anything about the theft.
That damned Phantom Thief... after beating down all the bandits, he just brushed off his clothes and left, hiding his merit and fame.
Why...
Why did he steal nothing this specific time!
Mary twitched the corners of her mouth in self-mockery.
Those commercial contracts and bonds, crucial to her, were now lying quietly in the evidence room which had undergone emergency reinforcement.
Lloyds Bank had already suffered once; they wouldn't be stupid enough to suffer a second time.
Everything had returned to the starting point. No, it was worse than the starting point.
That failed bank robbery was like a lit fuse, completely detonating her father's long-suppressed anxiety and desire for control.
The Admiral's son, next week's party... every word was like a new bar, constantly reinforcing this magnificent cage of hers.
Although she really couldn't figure it out—couldn't figure out why Moriarty, who took orders from Mycroft, would attack Lloyds Bank.
Was this Mycroft's intention, or his own plan? Mary couldn't guess at all, nor could she figure it out.
She even suspected that the other party knew her true identity, or even knew her plan in advance.
But there was no evidence to prove any of this.
The only thing she could figure out was one thing—she had lost.
Lost thoroughly.
The girl leaned back against the soft chair back, closing those azure eyes filled with exhaustion.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter...
The rain began to fall again, knocking on the glass, and also knocking on her heart that was gradually sinking into the deep sea.
It had clearly just cleared up this morning, yet now it started raining again.
"Can't you stop raining at such appropriate times..."
Mary buried her head in her knees, complaining in a low voice, her tone sounding like a little girl who had suffered endless grievances.
The sound of rain outside the window set off the deathly silence inside the room, making it even more suffocating.
In this suffocation, Mary thought of Russell again, thought of her instinctive cry for help:
[Will you come to save me?]
Now it seemed that the question itself appeared so ridiculous.
When even she couldn't save herself, how could she pin her hopes on a nihilistic, ethereal promise?
He didn't even know of this cage's existence.
Or perhaps he knew, but what could he do?
Irritation, powerlessness, disappointment... many negative emotions superimposed at this moment, entangling the girl's heart like thorns, tightening more and more.
"Tsk."
Mary opened her eyes, a chill in her azure pupils.
She stood up, walked to the window, and pushed open the heavy French window.
The cold night wind, mixed with moisture, instantly poured into the room, blowing her long silver hair into disarray and cooling her brain, which had almost been ignited by irritation, just a little.
She looked down at her own garden.
The rain washed over the carefully pruned roses; petals withered and scattered on the ground, turning into a mess of crimson in the mud.
Just like her mood at this moment.
Mary's hand rested on the cold window sill, letting that chill spread through her fingertips to her whole body.
There was actually one thing she hadn't told Russell, hadn't even told anyone else.
She was afraid of the cold.
Or rather, she had a constitution that feared the cold.
The rain slanted against her face, bitingly cold.
But even so, Mary allowed the window to remain wide open, letting the cold wind mixed with rain pour in.
Perhaps if she blew herself into a cold, she could avoid next week's party.
She slowly closed her eyes, letting the darkness and cold swallow her.
"Idiot."
Mary's lips trembled slightly. It was unknown if she was scolding that guy who made promises easily, or scolding herself for believing in promises so easily.
She slowly opened her eyes, and in those azure eyes, the last ray of hopeful light also extinguished, leaving only a calmness like dead water.
Forget it.
Let it be.
Screw the party.
She still had a final trump card.
If all this couldn't be changed, then she might as well burn it all down.
Just as this nearly self-destructive thought rose, Mary's peripheral vision suddenly caught a glimpse of a pitch-black figure.
He was moving so openly, yet silently, leaping over the eaves and running along the walls of her roof.
Why would this guy appear here?
In the brief few seconds of Mary's contemplation and astonishment, the Phantom Thief's figure had already appeared before her window.
The face wearing the mask showed no expression, but the right hand with five fingers spread was waving gently.
He said:
"Good evening, beautiful young lady."
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