Chapter 777:
“Why are you out here in this cold?” His voice rasped low. “Go back before you fall ill.”
Rylie lifted the umbrella, angling it above Brad’s head, and let her eyes fall on the row of bodies laid out before them.
“I heard what happened at sea. I came to see how you’re holding up.”
Brad raised a hand to block her view, lowering his head as he spoke quietly. “Don’t look.”
His breath brushed her cheek, warm against the cold air. She caught his hand and tugged it down, noticing at once the unnatural heat in his skin.
“The neurotoxin’s acting up again.”
His reply came in a low rumble. “I can handle the pain. I still need to report the mission to my superiors. By morning, the crew’s families will be here.”
“You won’t last that long,” Rylie answered steadily. “You need treatment.”
Rylie lifted her head to meet his eyes. The gentle rain fell on her face, her expression calm and composed.
“You know as well as I do that you’ll lose control and become dangerously unpredictable. Do you really want to go through that?”
A spasm of pain gripped him, sharp enough to crease his brow and stagger his stance. But the night pressed on.
Brock approached with urgency in his stride. “Admiral Morgan, the families are arriving soon. Reporters are approaching the area, and activists are already stirring the crowd. Minister Norris will issue a statement online, but you’ll need to meet the families yourself. They’ll expect someone to answer for this.”
Brad asked quietly, “When are they arriving?”
“In an hour,” Brock replied.
Rylie’s frown hardened, her tone cool as ice. “This isn’t just a mishap. Brad followed every protocol. The real question is why both countries acted on false orders. If the rescue had gone through, East Islet’s submarines would have attacked our fleet, and the death toll wouldn’t have stopped with these fishermen.”
Fresh chapters live gⱯlnσνeℓs․cøm
Her words cut cleanly, suggesting that she was privy to some classified information.
Brock turned to Brad, startled. “You told Dr. Owen all of this?”
Brad pressed his lips together. He hadn’t told her, yet she already knew everything. Finally, he simply nodded. “Yes.”
Brock faltered, but deep down he wasn’t surprised.
Brad eased the umbrella from her grip and laced his fingers with hers, his voice steady as he gave the order to Brock. “Have the adjutant handle it. I need to rest.”
Brock gave a salute. “Understood.”
Rylie had come without her own kit, but the base’s medical room held everything she needed. She could improvise a temporary treatment to hold back the toxin.
Together, they crossed the rain-slicked dock, heading toward the building.
In a hushed tone, Brad asked, “Tell me, how did you know?”
Rylie said quietly, “As the Healing Hand, I can trade a life for any truth I need.”
She never mentioned her identity as an arms dealer, yet her explanation carried weight.
.
.
.