Chapter 987:

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Giselle stared, her mouth agape. On the main control panel, the screen flickered and a new line of text appeared in stark, green letters: ADMINISTRATIVE CONTROL TRANSFERRED.

She spun back to Hilliard, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. “What did you do?”

He had used a Trojan horse, a silent digital predator he’d planted moments ago. It hadn’t just shut down the alarm. It had reversed the lockdown, seizing control of the entire system, locking Giselle out of her own fortress.

He was now the warden.

“You saw what I did,” Hilliard said, his voice quiet but carrying across the now-silent lab. He was still looking at the vial of RK-7.

𝘜𝗉d𝗮𝗍е𝘀 𝖾𝗏𝘦𝗋y wе𝖾k 𝗼n 𝗀а𝘭nov𝘦𝘭𝗌.c𝘰𝗆

Giselle’s fear curdled into a knot of disbelief and rage. “My security system, you hijacked my system!”

“Your system?” Hilliard finally turned to face her fully. A faint, contemptuous smile touched his lips. “It seems to be my system now.”

She lunged for the control panel, her fingers flying across the touchscreen, trying to input override codes. Access Denied. Access Denied. A new message flashed on the screen: EXTERNAL PROTOCOL OVERRIDE IN EFFECT.

She was locked out. Completely.

Hilliard walked slowly toward her, his footsteps echoing in the vast, sterile space. He stopped beside her, his gaze fixed on the vial of dark purple liquid.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone conversational, almost academic. “The thing you used on Cailin Morton.”

The blood drained from Giselle’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A low, humorless laugh rumbled in his chest. “Don’t you? Tiffany Reed was surprisingly talkative once she realized the alternative.”

His words hit her like a physical blow. Tiffany had cracked. It was over. A thought, sharp and cold, pierced through her panic. Eleonora. Her mother would be investigating him by now. He had to be working on a deadline.

She drew herself up, clinging to the last shreds of her arrogance. “So what? You have no proof.”

Hilliard walked over to a nearby lab table and picked up an empty syringe, turning it over in his gloved fingers. He seemed to be admiring the craftsmanship.

“I’ve been reading your research,” he said, his tone shifting to one of intellectual curiosity. “RK-7. It’s impressive. But I have a theory.”

He looked at her, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I think it has a flaw. A compound this complex, it’s likely unstable. It probably wouldn’t be effective against certain genetic sequences.”

It was a direct assault on her pride, on the one thing she held sacred: her genius.

“You’re wrong,” she snapped, her voice sharp with indignation. “It’s perfect. It’s lethal to any human subject.”

Hilliard raised an eyebrow. “Any subject? Really?” he mused, his voice laced with a goading disbelief. “Including its creator?”

He took a step closer. “Perhaps you carry a natural immunity. Or maybe,” he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you’ve already prepared an antidote for yourself. Just in case.”

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