Chapter 467: Awakening

"I know." Sebastian's voice was terrifyingly calm.

Maurice had woken up at some point. "Sebastian, someone's impersonating you. Should we—"

"No."

Sebastian turned, his eyes unfathomable behind his glasses.

Oscar finally couldn't hold back. "But Sebastian, that person is using your name, your theories, your—"

"I know who he is."

Sebastian cut him off, walking toward the workstation.

Thirty years ago, in his lab at Vanguard University, he'd researched antibodies for Scarlett. Back then, he'd known that man.

Younger than Sebastian. More ambitious. More ruthless.

After what happened to Scarlett, Sebastian destroyed all his research, abandoned medicine, changed his name and moved to Eldoria. He'd assumed that man would disappear too. He never expected him to be waiting all this time.

Maurice pressed on, "You're just going to let him impersonate you? Use your reputation?"

Sebastian didn't look up. "It doesn't matter. The truth always comes to light eventually."

"Charles's virus has been reactivated. That means the fake Donovan's treatment has entered its final stage. If I'm not mistaken, within a month, Charles will be dead."

"Then all our work was for nothing?!"

"Only if we're not fast enough. If we complete validation on our full-spectrum antibody before the end, Charles still has a chance."

Emily regained consciousness to the sound of sharp ringing in her ears.

She felt like she was floating in warm darkness, her limbs heavy as lead yet strangely free of pain.

Someone was speaking near her ear, the voice drifting in and out like it was filtered through thick frosted glass.

"...fake Donovan... within a month... Charles will die..."

Her fingers twitched violently.

Sebastian's voice suddenly surged closer, trembling with disbelief. "Emily? Emily, can you hear me?"

She tried to answer, but her throat felt like sandpaper. Those fragmented words reassembled in her mind... Charles, fake Donovan, death... each one like a red-hot needle stabbing into her consciousness as it clawed back from the abyss.

That's when the phone rang.

Sebastian moved to hang up, then saw the name flashing on screen: Fiona. He glanced at his daughter's suddenly wide-open eyes and hit speaker.

"Ms. Natasha, Mr. Windsor collapsed! Just now, in the isolation chamber at Willowbrook Medical Center—he started convulsing, blood pressure crashed, and now... now they're trying to resuscitate him!"

Emily's pupils contracted sharply.

She remembered that dawn before leaving Seraphim, when she'd told Fiona: "Any abnormality, tell me immediately. Any time."

Emily braced herself against the edge of the workstation, trying to stand. Her legs felt like noodles, stars exploding across her vision, but she bit down on her lower lip until she tasted blood. The adrenaline aftershock made her fingers tremble uncontrollably, the bone marrow puncture site throbbing with a dull pain like a blunt blade still grinding inside.

Sebastian pressed down on her shoulder. "Emily! In your condition, you can't even board a plane—"

"Dad. You said he'd die within a month. He's already started dying."

She ripped out the IV needle from the back of her hand. Blood droplets spattered across the white workstation.

"Get me a plane."

Twelve hours later, Willowbrook Medical Center.

The long flight had caused Emily's bone marrow puncture wound to seep blood. The painkillers were wearing off, each step like walking on broken glass.

Fiona waited for her outside the VIP room, eyes red-rimmed. "Ms. Johnson, they won't let anyone in. Anouk says Mr. Windsor needs absolute isolation, no outside personnel—"

"I'm his wife."

Emily's voice wasn't loud, but it made the two bodyguards in the hallway turn simultaneously. She didn't look at them, walking straight to the sealed door and stopping before the fingerprint scanner, pressing her thumb against it.

"Beep..." The red light flashed. Access denied.

She laughed coldly, pulling a miniature electromagnetic pulse device from her pocket—something she'd jury-rigged from headphone wire on the plane. Three seconds later, the lock let out a pitiful whine and slid open.

The room reeked of disinfectant mixed with some sickeningly sweet floral scent.

Anouk stood beside the bed. Charles was half-reclined, eyes open but not looking at Emily—staring straight at Anouk instead.

"Charles?" Her voice tightened involuntarily.

No response. His pupils were slightly dilated, clearly still in the haze of medication, but that gaze stubbornly tracked Anouk's movements until she walked to the window to adjust the IV drip.

Emily moved to the bedside, deliberately blocking Charles's line of sight. She leaned down, filling his entire field of vision with her face. "Charles, had your fill yet?"

His lashes trembled. Focus finally landed on her face. Something confused flickered there, then a nearly vulnerable brightness as he recognized her. His lips moved soundlessly, only his fingers lifting slightly, as if trying to touch her cheek.

Emily didn't move. She maintained that leaning posture, back to Anouk. "Does Mr. Windsor intend to pledge himself in gratitude for Ms. Montgomery's life-saving grace?"

An eerie silence fell over the room.

Anouk's hand paused on the IV line.

Interesting.

She thought to herself.

More interesting than three years ago.

Charles's fingers finally touched Emily's cheek.

"Emily... your... hand..."

Emily froze, looking down to realize her right hand was trembling uncontrollably.