Chloe Reed pressed her lips together. After a moment’s hesitation, she typed out and sent the message.
Chloe Reed: [Yeah, I’ll send it when my signal gets better.]
The old woman replied with an "OK" emoji, which was surprisingly trendy.
Chloe Reed scrolled through their chat history, a bitter and sorrowful feeling welling up inside her.
She couldn’t resist touching her throat again. Feeling the firm cartilage beneath her fingertips, she swallowed instinctively, but there was no longer any particular sensation.
But she could no longer speak.
She hugged her knees to her chest, burying her face between them and curling into a small ball.
When Daniel Hayes saw this, his heart ached. A tightness gripped his chest, and he found he couldn’t watch any longer. He left the room to give Chloe Reed the space she needed to process everything.
Dylan Finch didn’t stay either. As the door clicked shut, he thought he could hear the sound of suppressed sobs.
Dylan Finch’s expression froze for a moment before he let out a helpless sigh.
"What kind of messed-up situation is this?"
Once they were a good distance away, Daniel Hayes couldn’t hold it in any longer. "We thought the worst was over, and then that damn Sunny Reed had to go and stir up more trouble. How can she be so vicious? Won’t she be happy until someone’s dead?"
Dylan Finch’s eyes grew cold. "But right now, we can’t let her die. She might know how to make the antidote. Mr. Grant and his wife can’t stay like this forever."
The immediate crisis had only been temporarily averted.
Having failed once, Vera Holloway would surely send people again.
If Walker Grant and Chloe Reed hadn’t recovered by then, what would be the difference from simply waiting to die?
Especially Walker Grant.

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