He picked up, listened for a few seconds, then lifted his gaze, sweeping his eyes over the team as he spoke in a steady, commanding voice,

“Let’s go. Our psychiatrist has arrived. Adrian, you’re with me in Interrogation Room One.”

Although Alex had little patience for Adrian’s arrogance, he had to admit that Adrian was a master of words. Against a cunning suspect like Julian Wills, breaking through the psychological defenses would be far easier with Adrian at his side.

According to police intel, Julian Wills had been scheduled for an out-of-town business trip today. But after receiving the call from the department, he immediately canceled, boarded a flight back to Los Angeles, and even had his assistant forward Gavin Moore’s full treatment records to the police. His cooperative attitude seemed flawless.

Inside Interrogation Room One, the fluorescent light cast a pale glow across Julian Wills’ face. Though he looked somewhat weary from the rushed flight, he still carried himself with calm composure. His eyes were steady, his voice clear, his posture upright, showing no sign of pressure in the face of questioning.

After a brief exchange of formalities, Julian himself steered straight to the point: Gavin Moore’s death.

Although Alex already had the medical files in hand, he nevertheless asked Julian to explain Gavin Moore’s psychological condition throughout the course of treatment.

Julian Wills nodded, signaling his willingness to cooperate. First, he expressed his deepest regret over Gavin Moore’s passing. Then, speaking with calm deliberation, he said,

“He came to me two years ago, suffering from severe sleep disorders. The chronic insomnia left him mentally drained, physically exhausted, dependent on sleeping pills just to get a minimum amount of rest. We went through a lengthy course of therapy together, but it yielded almost no progress. The main issue was the overwhelming pressure and burden he carried. Unless he chose to set that weight down himself, his condition was never going to improve. We were unable to establish an effective therapeutic relationship. I had even planned to refer Gavin to a neuropsychologist, but before I had the chance…” He let out a sigh and trailed off.

Alex placed both hands on the table, his fingertips tapping lightly against the wooden surface as though holding himself back. He fixed his gaze on Julian.

“We need the recordings of Gavin’s therapy sessions.”

Julian shook his head.

“I’m afraid there are none. Gavin refused to be recorded, and I was obliged to respect his decision.”

Alex narrowed his eyes.

“Well, isn’t that convenient. In the span of a week, two of your former patients are dead by suicide - Nathan Greer and now Gavin Moore. That makes me seriously question your professional competence, Dr. Wills.”

Adrian glanced at Julian, studying his reaction. But the psychiatrist merely raised his brows slightly, then gave a small shrug, maintaining his composure.

“The human psyche isn’t a problem that can be solved through simple logic, Detective Rios,” he replied evenly. “Not everyone who seeks therapy walks away healed. Some wounds lie beyond our reach, sometimes even beyond the patient’s own understanding. You shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss my abilities over a few tragic coincidences.” His tone was calm, unhurried, carrying the quiet confidence of a man sure of his own skill.

Back and forth they went, question and answer, push and pull, yet the exchange led nowhere. Julian was too shrewd, too composed, and Alex found himself unable to break through. With no concrete evidence, he couldn’t very well slam the table and accuse Julian Wills outright that: “Your patients killed themselves. You were their psychiatrist. You should be held criminally responsible for their deaths.”

All this time Adrian had remained silent, but now he suddenly spoke up,

“Dr. Wills, according to the file, you’re from Florida. Not many Buddhists there, are there?”

Julian Wills smiled, lifting a hand to touch the jade Buddha pendant hanging around his neck. Perhaps it had slipped out during the conversation, catching Adrian’s eye. He replied,

“That’s true. Most people there are either Catholic or Protestant. But my grandmother was of Asian descent and a Buddhist, so our family followed her faith.”

Adrian nodded, as if enlightened, then continued,

“If you’re a Buddhist, then you must be familiar with the law of karma. Good deeds generate good karma, bad deeds generate bad karma. What do you make of that saying?”

Julian shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Fifty-fifty, I’d say. Doing good doesn’t always guarantee good karma, but doing bad, well, punishment is inevitable.”

Leaning back in his chair, Adrian rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as though mulling over Julian’s words. After a pause, he nodded in agreement,

“You’re right. If good deeds always generated good karma, then a decent man like Nathan Greer wouldn’t have died so young.”

The moment Adrian finished, Julian’s head lifted sharply, his brows knitting together, and for an instant, the pale blue of his eyes flickered with something unsteady. But just as quickly, his expression smoothed over again, calm as a placid lake.

Adrian, however, had already caught the fleeting shift beneath that composed exterior. He pressed on,

“Nathan Greer truly was a respectable, exemplary actor. He donated quietly, without fanfare, to funds supporting abused children, children born with disabilities, and even scholarship foundations. Out of pure compassion, with no thought of fame or gain. And yet, a man so good left this world far too soon, such a loss for America. You must feel the same way, don’t you?”

Julian Wills nodded, though the smile on his face had grown noticeably stiff.

“Yes. I do.”

Adrian spoke again,

“Ten years ago, he starred in a film that won multiple awards. In that movie, he played a father desperately seeking justice for his daughter, who had taken her own life after being sexually assaulted. The film ignited a massive wave of public outcry, sparking protests that forced Congress to amend the laws on underage sexual assault. Countless victims began to speak out, and many offenders were finally brought into the light.”

He paused, his voice sinking lower, followed by a quiet sigh.

“Unfortunately, after that film, he was so deeply immersed in the role that he couldn’t escape his character’s pain. It led to years of severe depression. A man who nearly saved an entire generation of victims… in the end, couldn’t save himself.”

Finishing the story of Nathan Greer, Adrian fixed his gaze on Julian Wills and sighed.

“Doctor Wills, why is it that good men like Nathan Greer never meet a good end? Has God been too cruelly unfair?”

Julian Wills could barely maintain the calm smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know. I’m human, not God.”

The gentleness in Adrian’s expression vanished, replaced by eyes sharp and unyielding, like a blade unsheathed.

“And yet, there are mortals who believe they hold the power of God, the right to judge, to condemn, and to decide life or death for others.”

Julian’s face was now utterly devoid of expression. The once dignified, composed doctor didn’t even bother to put on his usual mask.

“Detective, I don’t understand what you’re implying. If you have no further questions, then I’ll be excusing myself.”

Ignoring his words, Adrian pressed on.

“Doctor Wills, how many kinds of people do you think there are in this world?”

Julian curled his lips into a mocking smirk.

“If the detective wishes to discuss philosophy, I’m willing, though it’s not my specialty. But first, please book an appointment with my assistant. Oh, and don’t forget, my consultation fee isn’t cheap. Can a police officer’s salary cover it, I wonder?”

His sudden shift in tone came as a shock to Alex and the team watching from behind the one-way mirror.

Unruffled, Adrian continued, his voice calm and measured.

“There are three kinds of people. The first: those who create laws. The second: those who follow laws. The third: those who toy with laws. Doctor Wills, which one are you?”

Julian gave a derisive chuckle. “I’m a law-abiding citizen. Obviously, the second kind.”

Adrian rose to his feet, planting both hands on the table as he leaned forward.

“Good. Because if you lack the power and influence to create laws, then you’d better obey them. Otherwise, play with knives long enough, and you’ll cut yourself. Wouldn’t you agree… Lucian Drake?”

The sound of his old name slipping from Adrian’s lips brought a flicker of darkness to Julian’s pale-blue eyes. But just as quickly, it vanished beneath a mask of cold indifference.

Adrian ended the exchange there, turning on his heel and walking out, unwilling to waste another second.

Alex stood as well, announcing the interview was over before following Adrian.

Back at SCIU headquarters, Lucy couldn’t help but ask,

“Captain, why’d you two come out so soon? We didn’t even get to question him about his sister.”

Alex shook his head. “Not necessary. Didn’t you see how his attitude shifted?”

“I did. So what?”

“It means,” Alex said, “he knows we suspect him. And he doesn’t even bother hiding his arrogance. Do you know what that tells us?”

Lucy scratched her head, clearly lost.

Sighing, Alex rubbed his temples, signaling toward Adrian.

Adrian smiled and picked up smoothly, “It means he’s confident the police can’t touch him. Question him until dawn, the outcome won’t change.”

Marco pressed his lips into a tight line, his face clouded with frustration.

“So if a psychiatrist decides to kill, there’s really no way to convict him?”

Adrian lowered his gaze, lips curving faintly.

“There’s still one way.”

“What way?” Alex asked.

Adrian met his eyes, shook his head lightly, and answered with a quiet smile,

“I haven’t figured that out yet.”