Chapter 3: The Glass Wall
Early the next morning, the first sunlight streamed through the white wooden fence in front of the quiet house at the corner of West City. The maple tree in the yard cast faint shadows on the stone path, its dew-soaked leaves trembling slightly in the cold February breeze. Victor, wearing a long black coat, stepped out with Tom and Helen. Not a word of instruction, not a single glance back. They left the house in silence, as if following a programmed routine, blending into the crowd and disappearing into the bustling city.
Elly stayed behind. She wore a pale gray long dress, with a white apron neatly tied around her waist. In the sunlit, airy kitchen, she gently brewed tea, wiped the windowsill, and trimmed a few sprigs of lavender to place in a glass vase. Her movements were slow and graceful, as if the world had never known chaos.
At exactly eight o'clock, the doorbell rang.
The police came again. This time, Ryker wasn’t among them. Instead, a younger investigator arrived, dressed in plain clothes. He had a kind face, but it was laced with the sharpness of a trained professional. He entered with a case full of electronic devices. This wasn’t a routine visit—it was a covert interrogation. Sensors were placed along Elly’s face, tracking her breath, heartbeat, and every slightest movement.
But Elly didn’t flinch. She sat on the sofa like a goddess in a stone temple—coldly beautiful, eternal.
“Ms. Elly, I just have a few questions today,” the officer began, his smile light as the breeze.
“Go ahead,” Elly replied, her voice clear and steady like a finely tuned instrument.
“Do you know what happened to the students of Inter-District School No. 4 on January 30?”
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“No.”
“Do you know if anyone in your family might be involved?”
“No.”
“Do you suspect anyone?”
“No.”
The investigator nodded, his eyes flicking to the nearby screen. The facial expression analyzer, pulse reader, pupil dilation sensors—all were stable. No signs of lying. No fluctuation. She was telling the truth.
He shifted his tone: “Aren’t you curious? When your husband and children might be involved in something so serious?”
Elly looked up, her eyes like bottomless wells. “What has happened, has happened. I don’t have the habit of chasing causes when the outcome cannot be changed.”
“You’re not interested in who did it?”
“As long as it’s not me.”
“But it could be you?”
“It could.”
“And you still don’t care?”
Elly smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the smile of a being who knows their danger so completely that no proof is needed.
“To be honest,” she said softly, “if it was me, this conversation wouldn’t be happening.”
The investigator’s eyes narrowed slightly. The sensors picked up a change in his breathing. A slight rise in heart rate. A chill down his spine.
He switched tactics. “Have Helen or Tom shown any strange behavior lately? Anything suspicious?”
“Not sure. I don’t watch them 24/7.”
“But you’re their mother.”
Elly sipped her tea. “I’m their friend. Not their warden.”
The reply sliced through the air like a knife. The biometric data remained perfect. Every reading pointed to one thing: she knew something. But she didn’t know it the way humans do—as if her mind were detached from concepts like guilt or responsibility.
The conversation lasted nearly an hour. Finally, the investigator packed up his equipment and quietly stood.
“Thank you for your cooperation.”
Elly simply nodded, not bothering to see him out. When the door closed behind him, she returned to the kitchen, continuing to chop vegetables for lunch. The rhythm of the knife striking the board was steady, as though no one had ever been there.
Outside, the police car started and turned off the quiet street. In the car, the investigator wiped sweat from his forehead.
“She knows,” he thought. “She definitely knows... But damn it—not the way a human would.”
The truest answer... is simply not needing to know.
