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    Chapter 205 A Hint of Pity


    Jean’s arms, fingertips, and even the center of her chest were connected to thin, ck wires.


    At the other end sat the ominous bulk of the lie detector.


    Once everything was in ce, the Secret Service agents silently exited the interrogation room.


    Finished


    And just like that, it was the three of them again–Jean, Queenie, and Carl–in the same empty, suffocating


    space.


    Though the wires looked ordinary, Jean felt a tingling chill creeping across her scalp.


    It was as if her whole body had been surrendered to the cold precision of a machine. A heavy, invisible pressure pressed down on her.


    She frowned slightly. It didn’t feel good.


    “Alright, let’s begin,” Queenie said from across the table.


    Her tone was light, almost yful, her eyes sparkling with confidence as she looked at Jean.


    Jean refused to flinch.


    She gritted her teeth and locked eyes with Queenie, giving a firm nod.


    Queenie raised her hand and pressed a switch on the machine.


    That crawling, nerve–jangling sensation intensified.


    “Jean,” Queenie called her name suddenly, voice clear and cold.


    Jean kept her gaze fixed on Queenie, but the difort kept gnawing at her, invisible but relentless.


    “Now answer truthfully,” Queenie leaned in slightly, her presence loomingrger, her eyes pressing down like a weight. “Do you have any connection to the organization Shenyin?”


    Jean’s eyes lowered just a little.


    It felt like something inside her head was beginning to splinter from the strain. Her entire body ached with difort.


    She clenched her fingers, pressing down until she felt pain, forcing herself to stay alert.


    Still, her face remained calm.


    Thoserge ck eyes held a steady, imprable depth.


    “No,” she said clearly and firmly.


    She added again, evenly, “I have nothing to do with Shenyin.”


    Queenie wasn’t surprised by the answer.


    Chapter 205 A Hint of Pity


    If the lie detector confirmed a lie, that alone would be enough to validate her suspicions.


    But-


    When she looked at the screen, Queenie’s pupils contracted,


    The machine had already disyed its results-


    Jean… Wasn’t <i>lying</i>.


    What?


    Queenie’s fists clenched at her sides. Her face darkened immediately.


    She couldn’t ept it.


    Her instincts were rarely wrong. And this lie detector–top–tier technology from HQ–was known for its incredible precision.


    But now?


    The machine had contradicted everything she believed.


    She was convinced Jean was highly suspicious. But the machine showed no sign of deception?


    Should she trust the data?


    Queenie’s face stiffened, jaw locked in a tight line as frustration brewed inside her.


    Carl, sitting quietly to the side, also saw the result.


    He said nothing, just watched Jean with a deep, contemtive gaze.


    He could tell–Jean was ufortable. The lie detector caused this kind of reaction often, as though faint electrical pulses traveled through those ck wires and into the subject’s body, making their skin prickle and nerves twitch.


    And yet, despite it all, Jean sat upright,posed and unmoved. She made no sign of <i>fear</i>, no visible distress.


    She was bearing it.


    Carl’s gaze lingered on her longer than he realized. And in that moment–when the result shed across <i>the </i>screen–an unexpected thought crept in:


    <i>This </i><i>kid</i><i>… </i><i>she </i><i>might </i><i>really </i><i>be </i><i>innocent</i>.


    An absurd, almost ridiculous pang stirred in his chest. A flicker of emotion that surprised even him.


    It wasn’t reason. It wasn’t analysis.


    It was something quieter.


    TT–1–J L–1… 11..