Chapter 181
Chapter 181
He didn't finish that sentence.
Charlotte didn't press him either.
She cleaned up the used cotton balls and gauze, then walked back to Michael's bedside. The IV drip was flowing at a normal rate. Michael's breathing was a bit steadier than before, but his coughing was becoming more frequent. With each cough, his thin chest heaved violently.
Charlotte sat down beside his bed.
She looked down at Michael's face.
Ten years.
From three to fifteen years old.
He should have been dodging teachers in hallways, kicking up dust on playgrounds, laughing over family dinners.
Not wasting away behind iron bars.
Charlotte's right hand rested on her knee, her nails digging into her palm.
Wayne's footsteps sounded from upstairs.
He came down the stairs to report to Charles.
"Marcus has made the arrangements. The X-ray machine and doctor are being transferred from the provincial military hospital by air. Expected to arrive in Emberfall City in four and a half hours."
Charles nodded once.
"Is the factory area cleaned up?"
"All cleaned up. Six of Wild Wolf's men—four dead, two injured. The survivors are being held by Randal's people."
"Can the injured talk?"
"One of them has two broken ribs, but his mouth still works."
Charles’s gaze flicked to Charlotte. She hadn’t moved, eyes locked on the boy.
“Interrogate them yourself,” Charles ordered Wayne. "Find out three things. First, how many times Michael changed hands over these ten years, and who handled him. Second, when did Logan send Michael to Phantom Bastion? Third—"
A beat of silence.
"What was the last order Wild Wolf received? Was Michael supposed to be kept alive or killed?"
Wayne acknowledged and went upstairs.
The basement swallowed sound again. Only the IV’s soft plink and Michael’s wet coughs remained.
Charlotte sat there motionless.
Her shoulder burned. Her head throbbed in time with her pulse. Hunger gnawed at her stomach—she hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty hours.
None of it mattered.
In his sleep, Michael's fingers reached over and rested on her wrist.
His grip was still light.
But this time, Charlotte felt the weight.
The weight of ten years.
She gently covered Michael's fingers with her right hand.
Charles leaned against the wall, eyes closed. His breathing was still unsteady, but better than when he got in the car.
His right hand hung outside the bed frame.
His fingertips curled slightly, pointing in Charlotte's direction.
Elton finished putting away the instruments and walked over to Randal.
"That kid's condition isn't good." He lowered his voice.
Randal’s eyes cut to Charlotte.
"You tell her."
Elton shook his head. “Wait for the specialist. My guess might terrify her for nothing.”
Randal exhaled. “She doesn’t scare easy.”
Under the lights, Charlotte's figure remained motionless.
Her hand covered Michael's fingers.
Wind and snow howled outside, muted by thick walls into a constant, menacing drone.
Michael coughed again in his sleep.
This time, his cough carried a dull, wet sound.
Charlotte’s grip tightened until her knuckles whitened.
That moisture-laden cough sounded particularly harsh in the narrow basement.
Elton snatched his stethoscope and rushed over, waving her aside. She slid her hand lower but refused to leave the boy’s side.
The stethoscope touched down.
Elton listened, forehead creasing deeper with every second. When he finally pulled away, his face had aged ten years.
"Wet rales in the lungs have gotten worse."
He turned to look at Charlotte.
“Could be acute pulmonary edema. Could be pneumonia complications. Hard to say. But he’s breathing too fast. Oxygen starvation is setting in.”
Charlotte stared at Michael.
Michael's originally pale cheeks now showed a strange flush, but his lips were tinged with blue-purple. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath like pulling on a broken bellows.
"Oxygen," Charlotte demanded.
"We only have industrial oxygen tanks," Randal spoke up from the side. "Not pure enough, flow control isn't precise. Could cause problems."
"Bring it over." Charlotte turned to look at Randal, her eyes cold as ice. "Better than letting him suffocate."
Randal didn't argue. He turned and went into the side room. Two minutes later, a rusty blue steel cylinder was wheeled over.
Elton hooked up the line with swift, practiced hands.
Charlotte took the plastic mask and gently placed it over Michael's nose and mouth.
Michael struggled in his sleep, his hands instinctively pushing at the mask.
"Don't move." Charlotte held his hands. "This is keeping you alive."
Michael opened his eyes.
His gaze was unfocused, wavering on Charlotte's face for a long time before locking on. He took a breath of oxygen. The cold air rushed into his lungs, making him cough violently several times.
A trace of dark red blood appeared at the edge of the mask.
Charlotte’s pupils narrowed to pinpricks. She wiped the streak away with her thumb, leaving a faint red trail across his cheek.
"Charles."
Charlotte didn't turn around, but her voice echoed through the basement.
"Has the doctor arrived yet?"
Charles, leaning in the corner, opened his eyes.
Charles’s eyes opened. Sweat carved fresh paths down his ashen face. He checked his watch with a trembling hand.
"Three more hours."
"He won't last three hours."
Charlotte turned around, looking directly at Charles.
"Make him hurry. Whatever it takes, make him hurry."
Charles stared at her.
His eyes didn't hold their usual arrogant control, but rather showed a deep, suppressed emotion.
"Wayne's working on it."
He pushed himself up from the bed frame.
Due to the high fever, he swayed slightly, but quickly steadied himself. He walked to Charlotte's side and looked down at Michael on the bed.
"This kid's got a strong life force."
"He's got a strong life force because his last name is Seymour."
Charlotte laughed coldly, her tone sharp.
"If he dies today, Charles, you'll never be able to repay what you owe me."
"I already owe you plenty."
Charles didn't argue.
He took the oxygen tank valve from Charlotte's hand and adjusted the flow rate.
"One more thing won't make a difference."
Urgent footsteps sounded from the stairway.
Wayne rushed down, holding a tablet.
"Mr. Edward, message from Marcus—the transport plane made an emergency landing in the northern suburbs of Emberfall City. The blizzard's too heavy, visibility less than fifty meters, the tower wouldn't allow landing."
Charlotte shot to her feet.
"Emergency landing?"
"Yes," Wayne said anxiously. "The doctor and equipment are fine, but they're stuck at the field airfield in the northern suburbs. Roads are blocked, cars can't get through."
Charlotte grabbed the butterfly knife from the bedside.
She looked at Randal.
"Do you have a snowmobile?"
Randal paused. "I have one, pretty old, in the shed out back."
"Keys." Charlotte held out her hand.
"Are you crazy?" Charles grabbed her shoulder. "The northern suburbs are thirty kilometers from here, all mountain roads. With this much snow, taking a motorcycle out there is suicide."