?Chapter 2813:


    In the two years since he had returned to the Flynn family, the boy had only fallen ill a handful of times.


    Ernest brushed a hand over Locke’s burning cheek, then lifted him gently into his arms.


    “Locke?”


    A weak groan slipped from Locke as he kept his eyes shut.


    “I don’t feel good,” he whispered.


    “I know, son,” Ernest said gently.


    “The doctor will be here any moment.”


    Just then, the door opened.


    “Mr. Flynn, the doctor has arrived.”


    Momentster, the doctor stepped in briskly, medical kit in hand.


    “Mr. Flynn.”


    Ernest gave a curt nod and said at once, “We just took his temperature. It was 38.9°C.”


    “Understood.” The doctor began his examination.


    “No cough, no congestion. Tonsils look normal.”


    That made Ernest frown.


    “Then why is he burning up?” Most children’s fevers usually came from the very issues the doctor had just ruled out.


    “Too early to be certain,” the doctor replied calmly.


    “We’ll need to run some blood work and wait for the results.”


    “Alright.”


    With practiced efficiency, the doctor drew Locke’s blood and slipped the vial into a mini cooler inside his kit.


    Afterward, the doctor administered a shot to bring down the fever.


    ?????? ?????????? ???? g???????ν??????．?????


    “Mr. Flynn, I’ll deliver the blood sample for testing right away. You’ll be informed the moment we have the results.”


    “Good.” Ernest gave a firm nod, though his eyes never left Locke as the physician stepped out.


    In his arms, Locke felt fragile, and Ernest couldn’t bring himself to let go.


    The uncertainty of the illness weighed on him, pressing dread into his chest.


    What if the fever was more than something simple?


    Ernest’s jaw tightened. No—he refused to go there. Locke would pull through, strong and unharmed.


    So Ernest stayed where he was, cradling Locke close. The boy’s small body felt safer in his father’s arms than on any mattress.


    Every so often, Ernest brushed a hand over Locke’s damp forehead. The medicine had begun to work, and beads of sweat now clung to his skin.


    Not long after, a servant stepped in and said, “Mr. Flynn, the doctor is on the line.”


    “Give it here.” Keeping Locke bnced in one arm, Ernest took the phone with the other and lifted it to his ear. His voice was steady but low.


    “I’m listening.”


    “Mr. Flynn, the blood work shows no irregrities.”


    A wave of relief washed over Ernest, though worry still lingered as he asked, “If nothing is wrong, why would his fever spike so suddenly?”


    The doctor hesitated.


    .


    .


    .