?Chapter 1571:


    He drew a deep, steadying breath and expelled the stale air from his lungs. Shifting his weight, he leaned forward like an arrow drawn to full tension. His eyes flicked discreetly toward the front seats. The driver stared straight ahead, focused on the twisting road. The passenger sat motionless, gazing out his own window, seemingly lost in thought.


    Perfect.


    Determination shed in Kolton’s eyes. In one sudden motion, he threw his entire weight toward the door. His fingers closed around the cold metal handle—one pull, and it would fly open. Wind would rush in. Freedom would be inches away.


    But just as his fingertips hooked thetch, a soft, muffled pop erupted inside the sealed cabin. It sounded like a balloon rupturing, or a de cutting through old leather.


    Kolton’s body locked rigid. A searing heat bloomed on the outside of his thigh—like a white-hot brand pressed to flesh. Then came numbness, followed by a ripping, tearing agony as warm blood gushed freely.


    A choked groan escaped him. He looked down. In the dim blue glow of the dashboard lights, he saw a neat, dark hole punched through his thigh, blood pouring out and soaking his ruined trousers, spreading a vivid crimson stain across the leather seat.


    The bullet hadn’t just wounded his leg. It had destroyed hisst hope.


    Kolton’s head jerked up, trembling. In the front passenger seat, the man who had sat like a statue now faced him fully, a silenced pistol held steady and level—aimed directly between Kolton’s eyes. His gaze was t and emotionless, as though he were watching an insect struggle in a jar.


    “You—” Kolton’s mouth fell open, desperate to scream, to beg. No sound emerged.


    A crushing wave of dizziness mmed into him. His vision doubled, wavered, blurred. The gun barrel in front of him split into two, then smeared into a hazy streak.


    They had drugged him.


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    The realization hit like ice water. His mind felt as though a piece of it had been ripped away. Consciousness frayed at the edges. His body went limp, copsing sideways like wet y, his back striking the door with a dull thud.


    Just before darkness swallowed himpletely, he heard the man say in a low, unhurried voice, “Sleep tight.”


    The tone carried no sarcasm, no malice—only the calm finality of someone stating an obvious fact. Or perhaps bidding farewell to a corpse.


    Kolton’s eyes slid shut in utter despair.


    Hidden deep underground, the base’s medical wing held air heavy with chemical cleanliness and the faint, charged smell of humming metallic instruments.


    Chris stood motionless outside the thick ss wall of an istion room, rigid as stone, his expression unreadable.


    Beyond the transparent barrier, Laurencey silent in the hospital bed. The once-iron-willed patriarch who had carried the Cooper family legacy through decades of storms now looked heartbreakingly frail. A thin oxygen tube rested beneath his nose; each shallow breath lifted his chest only faintly,boriously.


    The heart monitor emitted its relentless, clinical drone.


    Beside the bed, arge dialysis machine worked tirelessly. Dark red blood flowed steadily through clear tubes—out of Laurence’s body, throughyered filters in the machine, and then back in again, cleansed bit by bit. It was the only measure left. This slow, meticulous process gradually drew the poison from his bloodstream.


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