Chapter 652:
Hours passed as they pushed through the wilderness, the storm finally easing and the path growing calmer with each step. Step after step, Brad pressed forward, never letting go until the world finally opened up ahead of them and the glow of rescue lights spilled across the frozen landscape.
Shouts erupted the moment they appeared, waves of relief and disbelief rippling through the crowd.
“Admiral Morgan made it!”
“Miss Owen’s alive too! They both survived!”
“I can’t believe it—they actually pulled through!”
Medics hurried to meet them, gently prying Rylie from Brad’s exhausted arms and easing her onto a waiting stretcher. As she lay back, her eyes caught a dark smear staining the snow—every drop tracing the path of Brad’s wounded leg.
The adrenaline drained from him all at once. With his last bit of strength spent, Brad’s vision dimmed and he crumpled to the ground, swallowed by the cold.
Instinct kicked in for Rylie. She started to sit up, desperate to reach him, but Deandre stopped her, his grip firm and voice steady. “There’s a whole team here, Rylie. Let them handle Brad. You need help too.”
His gaze dropped to her bandaged leg, frustration and worry etched into his features. “Why do you always put yourself last?”
Determined, Rylie pushed her backpack toward him. Her words came out rushed but clear. “Deandre, Felix doesn’t have time. I need to get the antidote ready now. Save your lecture for when I’m finished, alright?”
Her stubbornness brought a flicker of emotion to Deandre’s eyes, and his voice cracked just a little. “I know you care about Felix—we all do. But shouldn’t you consider your own safety first?”
Rylie answered softly, unwavering. “He’s at death’s door. Now, here, only I can save him. How could I wait any longer? If I only took action when the weather improved, I’m afraid Felix would already be a body.”
Lɒtєѕτ чhɒρτєrѕ ιn gɑl𝑛οvєlѕ.сo𝓂
Deandre finally relented, ordering a medical tent to be set up and carrying Rylie inside himself, despite her protests. On the way, they crossed paths with Kendrick and Marcus.
Both were stricken by the sight of Rylie’s battered leg. But with Felix’s life hanging in the balance, neither dared to stop her from pushing through the pain to make the antidote.
Another dose of painkiller went into her leg before she hiked up her pants and gave the wound a quick, practical cleaning. Without another word, Rylie turned all her focus to the task—mixing, testing, and adjusting the formula.
Not a moment’s rest passed for her that night. Only when the antidote was finished, tested, and proven to work for Felix and the other three poisoned survivors did Rylie allow herself to finally let go of the tension that had gripped her since the mountains.
Later, Kendrick ducked through the flap of the tent, stopping in his tracks at what he saw.
Pale in the half-light, Rylie had fallen asleep with her cheek pressed against Felix’s bed, hair a tangled mess that partly hid her drawn face.
Her leg, rigged up with a makeshift splint, was bare from the knee down, skin marked with bruises and hastily patched wounds. Even asleep, one hand stayed wrapped gently around Felix’s wrist, as if she refused to let go.
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