Chapter 297: The Only Light in His Heart

Chapter 297: The Only Light in His Heart

Inside the room, Sophia's slender hand rested on John's forehead.

His body temperature had risen considerably. Earlier, even she had been startled—his skin had been cold as ice.

After removing the acupuncture needles, she was about to step out for a glass of water when the man on the bed suddenly grabbed her wrist, murmuring incoherently, "Sophia..."

Sophia froze mid-step. After a moment's hesitation, she sat back down.

Only now did she notice the blood matted in John's silver hair—dried and crusted, like red plum blossoms fallen on snow.

She took a damp cloth and gently wiped away the stains.

Come to think of it, this was the first time she'd ever really looked at John—truly looked at him.

When she was young, Jane and George were rarely around. Andrew was always buried in work. Only John had bothered with her... or more accurately, bothered to her.

Endless pranks. Constant teasing. She'd always hated him for it.

But looking back, John had been the only one in that cold, empty house who ever paid her any attention. Every so often, he'd toss some accessory her way—claiming he'd "found it lying around," calling it junk.

Who just finds a sixty-thousand-dollar hairpin on the street?

Sometimes it was limited-edition handbags. "My girlfriend didn't want it," he'd say. "Figured I'd dump it on you."

What kind of girlfriend gets a children's backpack? No wonder she didn't like it.

"You're rotten to the core..." Sophia stared at the man on the bed, his breathing so shallow it barely seemed to exist. She bit out the words under her breath.

Michael pushed open the door just in time to see John's hand draped over the edge of the bed, fingers unconsciously clamped around Sophia's wrist.

And she wasn't pulling away. Didn't even seem to notice the pain.

He strode over and pried John's hand off, revealing the angry red mark circling her wrist. His chest tightened. "Are you stupid? You didn't feel that?"

Sophia blinked, confusion flickering in her eyes as if she'd only just registered the swelling. She gave a bitter smile. "This is nothing."

If this counted as serious, what did that make the rib she'd broken when she was five?

Michael stared at the bruise, his jaw clenched. But he said nothing more.

He turned to retrieve the first-aid kit, movements efficient as he pulled out ointment and cotton swabs, applying the medicine in silence.

The cool salve touched her wrist. Sophia's nerves contracted instinctively.

"It's really fine. It'll fade in a bit," she said, as averse to being fussed over as ever—especially on her wrist, where the ointment would smudge onto everything.

"Leave it on." His tone left no room for argument.

Sophia stopped resisting, letting Michael work. Her gaze drifted back to John's pale face.

His breathing was faint, his brow slightly furrowed—as if even in dreams, he found no peace.

"He... he'll be okay, won't he?" she asked softly, a barely perceptible tremor in her voice.

Michael was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "With you here, he'll pull through."

After all, Sophia was the only light John had ever known. The only thing he truly cared about.

 

Despite John's sudden collapse, Sophia's plan to travel to Eldoria in search of Andrew remained unchanged.

That evening, back at Riverbank No. 9, when Nate came to check on her, Sophia proposed he join them on the trip.

Andrew wasn't exactly stable either. Bringing a psychiatrist might give them a chance to counsel him—maybe even convince him to come home.

Her pitch to Nate was simple: Andrew had known about Jane's illegal activities all along. He'd even overseen operations at Smith Pharmaceuticals. There might be new leads on Lynn.

"We're already in this together," Nate said, taking a sip of brandy, his eyes resolute. "I'm coming with you."

"Good." Sophia pulled out her phone to contact the helicopter pilot. "We leave tomorrow at seven. Meet on the rooftop of Vertex Innovations Group."

 

Eldoria. Somewhere beneath the earth, in an underground factory.

Inside the dim laboratory, the acrid stench of chemical agents saturated the air.

Jane stood before the lab bench, two fingers pinching a test tube filled with a luminous green liquid. Her gaze grew increasingly manic.

"Such a shame, John..." she murmured to herself. "You're my most perfect creation—and my greatest failure."

All these years, she'd tried everything. Drugs. Hypnosis. Electroshock. All to control him completely. But his will was like an impenetrable wall, always clinging to that last shred of clarity.

No matter. The new formula was complete. This time, he would become her puppet entirely.

Pure. Loyal. Forever her obedient "white dove."

 

The private jet crossed into Eldorian airspace.

Outside the cabin, leaden clouds hung low like a heavy blanket smothering the sky.

Through the frost-rimmed window, Sophia watched ice crystals form along the wing's edge, glinting coldly in the sunlight.

"We'll land in thirty minutes," Michael said, setting down the satellite phone. His breath fogged in the frigid cabin. "The runway's been de-iced, but there may still be black ice."

Sophia nodded faintly, her fingertip tracing absent patterns on the frosted glass.

The crystalline designs reminded her of the perpetually fogged window in Andrew's study—he always cranked the heat to maximum in winter, yet insisted on leaving that one window cracked open.

Across from her, Nate sat bundled in a cashmere scarf, Andrew's case notes spread across his lap—compiled by Sophia herself.

His pen tapped rhythmically against the paper. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"According to our intel, Andrew disappears for three to five days every month," he said, adjusting his glasses. "And there are flight records showing private jet trips to Eldoria. Is that where he's hiding?"

"He needs that place," Sophia finally turned her head, her voice quiet. "The way a wounded animal needs a den."

The plane began its descent. Sudden turbulence jolted the cabin violently.

The seatbelt dug deep into Sophia's shoulder, but she only pressed harder against the window, as if trying to see through the blizzard below.

Sophia had never been to Andrew's hideout. To avoid a situation where the plane had nowhere to land, they'd opted to touch down at the nearest airport and switch to ground transportation.

 

The rented SUV's tires crunched over packed snow, the sound grating and sharp.

Icy wind lashed the windows, carrying shards of frozen rain. Branches snapped under the weight of ice, their cracks echoing like gunshots.

"Two miles out," Michael said, eyes locked on the GPS, brow furrowed.

Outside, skeletal trees swayed in the gale, their twisted limbs like the grasping fingers of the dying.

Sophia rolled down her window. Frigid air rushed in, thick with the scent of rust and frozen earth.

In the distance, a murder of crows tore at something frozen in the snow, their black feathers streaked with crimson.

Her fingers curled tighter.

That was the smell of blood.

"We're here," Michael said.