"FBI, Special Investigation Unit."
Faced with questions from a New York police officer, Selena and Grim flashed their IDs and asked, "Any findings at the scene?"
"Sending more people over? But my answer remains the same as before."
The detective shrugged helplessly, "Just like the previous reports... It looks like a domestic conflict escalated, but many details are inexplicable."
With hands on his hips, he walked with Selena into the mansion, saying at the same time:
"The husband violently killed his father-in-law and wife, then accidentally fell to his death. But they were reportedly on good terms before, and everything that night... just seemed like they were possessed by a devil..."
In the living room, Elana sat on the sofa with an unusually pale face, crying into her hands:
"I don't know... I don't know anything... Dad suddenly went crazy, he... used an ashtray to kill grandpa... Mom shielded me and told me to run... I was terrified, and I, I just ran out..."
Her uncle James sat far away on another sofa, silently glancing at the weeping Elana.
The girl's eyes were swollen and red from crying, looking utterly pitiful, yet James felt a strange sensation in his heart.
At that time, the family of three hurriedly left the main house, but the rain was pouring down, and the couple with their child couldn't go far, so they knocked on the maid's quarters just a few yards away.
To their surprise, there weren't many insects in that building.
The family took turns in the maid's room to shower and changed into clean, warm clothes. As Sophie, the wife, was drying their daughter's hair, James heard a commotion from downstairs.
When he went down, he saw Elana curled in a ball, shivering.
James truly wanted not to recall the events that followed.
But a murder had occurred in the mansion, and it involved his family, and the Harrington family's plan to separate had ultimately failed. Now, they faced repeated police inquiries and endless business dealings.
No matter if it was Elana or James, both had unanimously concealed one thing—that on that night, they heard the horrifying truth.
Elana still refuses to believe her own relatives could commit such dreadful acts; James simply avoids pondering it.
Footsteps approached; two more FBI agents stepped inside.
James lazily lifted his eyelids, the words he'd repeated several times turning on his tongue, waiting for the right moment to spill out.
"Hello, I'm Agent Anna Hamm, and this is my associate, Jon Louis."
Selena extended her hand, "I'm sorry for your family's unfortunate passing... Can you spare a few minutes to talk about what happened that day? Don't worry, it's just routine questioning."
As she sat down, Grim requested the New York police officers to give them some space, then sat on the sofa and took the initiative to pour everyone a glass of water.
"Have some water," he said gently, "The young lady looks like she's cried herself to the brink of dehydration."
James thought his words made perfect sense and immediately drank over half the glass in one go.
Despite trembling slightly, Elana extended her arm and accepted the glass of clear water handed to her.
"Gulp gulp gulp..."
The monotonous sound of swallowing resonated.
...
Selena quickly exited the Harrington residence, looking back at the mansion, which seemed to exude a sense of death and decay, then swiftly slipped the Communication Pea into her ear.
"Mr. Hughes, the investigation on the Harrington Clan has concluded."
Her gaze fell to the side.
Grim was blending in with the reporters, casually patting their shoulders, exchanging a few simple words, and the journalists eagerly handed over their cameras.
Selena said with a grave tone,
"We just received shocking information—the identities of the deceased are quite unusual!"
"They were not ordinary Muggles but members of an organization called 'Prometheus,' which covets magic power and captures wizards for human experiments!"
"I suspect other deceased may also have similar identities. This was a precision assassination akin to surgery! Unfortunately, those close to the deceased were unaware of their hidden secrets."
"I'm taking their memories back now! You'll understand everything once you see them!"
...
Victor donned simple casual clothes, holding a Black Dog on a leash. After running a lap with the dog around the park, he sat down to drink water, pulling out a sausage for the Black Dog.
The Black Dog nuzzled into his arms affectionately, used its claws and teeth to rip open the sausage packaging, and started eating heartily.
Although Victor looked like a rough man and the Black Dog was imposing in size, their intimate interaction drew friendly glances from passers-by.
But unbeknownst to them, while chewing the sausage, the Black Dog mumbled:
"Damn you, Victor! If you feed me snacks again, I'll bite off your hand first!"
Victor casually scratched its chin, smilingly saying, "Acting so ferocious, aren't you afraid of being taken away for euthanasia by humans?"
The Black Dog lifted its lips, revealing a toothy expression.
Victor leisurely leaned against the back of the chair, appearing at rest.
Those suspicious of Vid, how did they conclude Vid was definitely in New York?
It's likely due to those animals exhibiting abnormal behavior during stormy weather.
So, if some attentive person inquired, they would naturally learn about the existence of the Black Dog.
Victor absentmindedly stroked the dog's ears, thinking: when he parades with the Black Dog in public places in New York, what might it attract?
The man's sprawling posture, combined with the large dog, nearly occupied the entire bench.
The pedestrians passing by, seeing the pair, mostly stayed clear at a distance.
And just as Victor heard a distinct pair of footsteps approaching them, a "just as expected" smile appeared on his face.
But as he turned his head, he was still slightly surprised.
The newcomer was none other than the head of the American Magic Congress Auror Office—Ezra Hughes.
The man approached wearing a well-fitted Muggle trench coat, his steps steady, gaze calmly directed at Victor and the sharp-eyed Black Dog next to him.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Victor Kravchuk."
Ezra Hughes stood beside the bench, politely asking, "Please forgive my intrusion... Mind if I sit down and chat with you?"