Chapter 977:

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With a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, she lunged forward and grabbed a handful of his white lab coat. He was trapped.

Her voice was a low, brutal hiss, each word a hammer blow. “You knew. You’ve known all along, haven’t you? You knew this was your family’s work.”

Finch shook his head frantically, his words a strangled mess of denial. “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A cold, humorless smile touched Cailin’s lips. She released him, her hand falling away. She pointed a trembling finger at the fallen syringe.

“Your hands just told me everything I need to know, Doctor.”

He stumbled back against the wall, breathing in ragged, panicked gasps. His defenses were gone.

He closed his eyes, a look of profound, soul-deep misery on his face. He didn’t deny it this time. He just whispered, his voice cracking, “Please. Don’t ask any more questions. You don’t understand. They’ll kill us all.”

That single, desperate plea was the final nail in the coffin. It was an admission. Van Doren. It was them.

Cailin fell back against the pillows, her chest heaving. The rage was a physical thing, a fire in her blood. She looked at the pathetic, trembling man before her, a doctor who had betrayed his oath, a cog in a murderous machine.

Updа𝘁𝗲𝘴 𝘦𝘷e𝗿𝗒 𝘸𝖾е𝘬 𝗼𝗻 𝗀a𝘭𝘯о𝗏𝗲𝘭𝗌.𝘤𝘰m

“A healer,” she spat, the words dripping with contempt. “You’re an accomplice to murder.”

Tears welled in Finch’s eyes. “I’ve been trying to slow it down,” he pleaded, his voice thick with shame. “The doses I’ve been giving you, they’re not just for pain.”

“Get out,” Cailin interrupted, her voice suddenly flat and devoid of all emotion. “Get out of my room. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want anything from a killer’s family.”

He scrambled to pick up the tray, his hands shaking so badly the vials rattled. He fled the room like a hunted animal.

The moment the door clicked shut, Cailin’s hands clenched the bedsheets, her knuckles turning white.

It was Eleonora. It had to be. And Giselle was the one who delivered the poison. And Hilliard, Hilliard with his jacket smelling of Giselle’s perfume, was sleeping with the executioner. He had allied himself with the monsters who were killing her.

The thought was a black hole, sucking away the last of her will to fight, the last of her will to live.

She ripped the IV needle from the back of her hand. A bloom of dark blood welled up, but she felt no pain.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floor was shockingly cold against her bare feet. She had to get out. She had to do something. She couldn’t die in this bed, waiting.

She staggered toward the small closet, her body swaying, the room tilting around her.

Just as her fingers touched the cool wood of the closet door, it was pushed open from the outside.

A tall, imposing figure filled the doorway.

Silas Croft.

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