<b>Chapter </b>141


    Jade’s POV:


    I tossed my blood–stained surgical gloves into the medical waste bin. The surgery had been sessful–I’d removed William Haxton’s hematoma with surgical precision that had left the attending physicians speechless. But that was only addressing the symptom, not the cause. The real threat was still circting in his bloodstream–a toxin I was all too familiar with.


    I walked toward Ethan with the blood samples I’d drawn from his father during surgery. “I need aboratory,” I said, holding up the vials. “Preferably one withplete toxicology analysis equipment.”


    Ethan nodded without hesitation. “It’s already prepared on the top floor. Everything you need is there.”


    The two attending physicians who’d sneered at me earlier were now falling over themselves to offer assistance. Amazing how removing a blood clot from the brain changes people’s attitudes.


    “Miss Morgan, I’d be honored to assist with any further tests,” said the first doctor, the same one who had called me an amateur just hours ago. His colleague nodded eagerly beside him.


    “If you could share your surgical technique sometime-” the second physician began, but I cut him off with a cold


    stare.


    Walter Morrison adjusted his bow tie, excitement evident in his weathered face. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to assist. I’ve been studying this mysterious toxin in Mr. Haxton’s system for months without sess.”


    I gave a curt nod. Time was critical, and I needed to focus. “I’ll needplete ess to all previous test results and blood work,” I said as we headed toward the elevator.


    “Of course, of course,” Walter replied, his eyes bright with scientific curiosity. “I’vepiled everything in digital format. We’ve run every standard toxicology panel, but this poison… it’s unlike anything I’ve encountered in forty years of practice.”


    I bet, I thought. It wouldn’t be in any medical database. The Shadow Organization’s specialty poisons were designed


    to leave no trace.


    Thirty minutester, I waspletely immersed in my work in the top–floorboratory. The workbench was covered with test tubes, centrifuges, and various analytical instruments. Several deadb micey to my side–necessary casualties in my pursuit of answers. I knew this toxin’s chemical properties, but I needed to confirm its exact form and source.


    My hands moved with practiced efficiency, muscle memory from years of simr work kicking in. The molecr structure was unmistakableplex enough to evade standard detection methods, but with the signature markers I recognized from my previous life. Only a handful of people in the world could synthesize something this


    sophisticated.


    My phone vibrated. I didn’t check it immediately, but from the vibration pattern, I knew it was Ethan. I continued focusing on the blood sample under the microscope, observing how the toxin interacted with the cells. After about twenty minutes, I finally picked up my phone. As expected, Ethan was asking if he could enter. I replied with a simple “Yes.”


    Theboratory door slid open as Ethan and Walter walked in. They surveyed the room, taking in the array of reagents and instruments that covered every surface–chaotic to the untrained eye, but methodical in their arrangement.


    “How’s William?” I asked without looking up, my pipette precisely extracting fluid.


    “Stable for now,” Ethan said, standing beside me. “You’ve been working for six hours straight. You should eat something and rest.”


    “No time,” I replied curtly, cing a test tube in the centrifuge.


    Ethan silently observed my movements. I could feel his gaze, studying me with a mixture of curiosity and something


    else I couldn’t quite ce.


    Walter looked at my experimental notes with fascination. “This method of form analysis… I’ve never seen anything like it,” he murmured, adjusting his sses. “The way you’re tracking the molecr degradation pattern is ingenious.”


    I didn’t respond, focused on preparing another sample. The centrifuge whirred softly in the background as I recorded my observations,paring them against the theoretical models I’d constructed.


    As night deepened, theboratory fell quiet except for the hum of machinery and asional keyboard clicks. I stared at a mouse that had just died violently for nearly ten minutes. Everything was clear now–this was a toxin unique to the Shadow Organization, and I could almost certainly identify who had created it.


    Maybe King of Hearts,‘ I thought silently. But why target William Haxton, who had already stepped back from his position, rather than the current head of the family, Ethan? There had to be a deeper connection.


    I turned to Ethan and Walter, who had been waiting patiently. “I can create an antidote.”


    My fingers flew across the keyboard as I quickly input the detailed drug form. Walter leaned in to look, his expression shifting from confusion to shock.


    “This is… a counter–poison approach?” he asked in amazement. “Extremely dangerous, but theoretically viable.” He looked at me with newfound respect. “The bnce ofpounds is precise to a degree I’ve rarely seen. Where did you learn this?”


    “Practice,” I replied, keeping my answer deliberately vague.


    “The form requires several rarepounds that need to be sourced immediately,” I said, pointing to the list on the screen. “Otherwise, William’s condition will deteriorate further. The toxin is designed to elerate after a certain threshold, and we’re approaching that point.”


    Ethan immediately took out his phone and began making arrangements. “I’ll have it handled right away. Connor is already contacting suppliers.”


    91


    A few hourster, I walked into William Haxton’s hospital room to check his condition. Hey in the high–end room, connected to various monitoring devices and IV drips. His situation was temporarily stable, but I could see the toxin slowly eroding his bodily systems–the slight discoloration at his nail beds, the particr rhythm of his breathing, the barely perceptible tremor in his hands even while unconscious.


    Ethan waited in the hallway outside the room. Seeing me emerge, he approached. “How is he?”


    “We don’t have much time,” I said bluntly, “but if we can get all the ingredients in time, I’m confident I can synthesize the antidote.”


    I sat down on a bench in the hallway rest area and closed my eyes. After working for nearly eighteen hours straight, even my stamina was reaching its limits. The wall behind me was cold and hard, but any support was a luxury at


    this point.


    Ethan stood nearby, watching me with concern. “Do you want to rest in the adjacent room? Or can I get you


    something to eat?”


    “I’d rather sleep in a coffin than in a hospital bed,” I replied coldly, my eyes still closed. The cold wall was making the back of my head sore. I patted the seat beside me, inviting Ethan to sit down.


    Heplied, sitting next to me, and I leaned my head lightly against his shoulder.


    “I’m doing your family such a huge favor, you don’t mind if I borrow your shoulder, do you?” I said with a hint of


    tired sarcasm.


    The corner of Ethan’s mouth curved slightly upward. “It’s my honor, Ms. Morgan.”


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