Chapter 642:
Brad said, “Grandpa, the risk was mine. If you must blame someone, blame me.”
His voice carried a new, unyielding edge.
Sean blinked at the frost in his tone, then anger roared back. He said, “Blame you? Do you even see me as your grandfather? Do you care about the Morgan name at all? All this for an outsider—”
Brad interjected, “She isn’t an outsider. Felix is pushing back against the global chip monopoly. Saving him helps everyone in this nation. And as for me — this was my choice. I’ll carry the cost alone.”
Sean’s breath hitched. Since Rylie appeared, his grandson had slipped from his grasp — more willful, less moved by family power and the army’s weight.
Sean stood in the rain for a long beat, eyes shadowed with anger and disappointment. He said, “I raised you for years, and this is my first true disappointment. A good soldier never lets feelings get in the way. Think hard, Brad. You’re an admiral, and your every move will influence countless people.”
Before Brad could speak, Sean turned on his heel and walked away. Cillian and the others followed close behind.
Only Frieda stayed back. She lifted her umbrella over Brad, her voice trembling. “B-Brad, the rain’s too heavy. Come back to the tent. We should treat your wounds immediately.”
The sudden kindness caught him off guard. His face stayed hard as he stepped out from under her umbrella. “No need. Thank you.”
Frieda bit her lip as she watched another medic guide him toward the tent, rain streaming down his shoulders.
Brad’s injuries were minor, and others were already handling him. Rylie’s focus was fixed instead on her brother and the team who had returned poisoned from the mountains.
Brock handed her the samples they managed to save. “This is all we brought back. The avalanche came out of nowhere, and we lost the rest while escaping. I don’t know if it’ll change anything.”
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Rylie took them without hesitation. “It’s fine. Leave the rest to me.”
Brock gave a short nod. “If you need anything, ask the men outside. I’ll report to Admiral Morgan.”
Mask and gloves in place, Rylie moved quickly, checking each poisoned patient. Her frown deepened with every result.
She began with Felix, who was in the worst shape. Blood, organs, skin — all showed severe reactions. She compared his results with the samples, but no matter how many times she tried, no antidote fit.
Two others shared Felix’s symptoms.
Rylie examined each sample Brad’s team had risked everything to collect, but none matched the toxin spreading through the three.
The other five, however, were easier to identify. Their toxins fell within the scope of the antidotes she carried.
Resolved, she prepared the doses and handed them to the medics.
An hour later, good news arrived. The five were stabilizing. But when the same antidote was given to Felix and the other two, it made things worse — failing organs, collapsing bodies. The toxins clashed inside them like fire on oil.
“The poison in Mr. Owen isn’t among these samples,” one medic muttered grimly. “Once the organs fail, even a miracle won’t save them.”
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