The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 246

"Drop them," Garrison ordered, his voice dangerously low.

Wyatt stared at him, his finger slowly tightening against the trigger before finally releasing the pressure. He placed his gun on the ice, his movements agonizingly deliberate, as if setting down fragile glass.

Cassandra didn't move an inch. She glared absolute daggers at David's head, the barrel of her weapon still leveled firmly at him, her jaw locked in fury.

"Cassandra, drop it!" Garrison barked.

Her lips pressed into a thin, white line before she finally lowered the gun, tossing it onto the ice next to Wyatt's.

The second the weapons hit the ground, several armed men swarmed them, brutally grabbing their shoulders and wrenching their arms painfully behind their backs.

David's lips curved into a triumphant smile.

He released his grip on Sloane's neck, giving her shoulder a patronizing pat as if calming a spooked animal.

Then, he strolled over to Garrison. He stood so close that Garrison could smell the heavy, expensive cologne radiating off him—a scent that felt absurdly sickening against the barren, frozen wasteland.

"Dr. Foster, do you have any idea why these people had to die?" David asked softly, his tone resembling two old friends catching up.

"They all died because of you."

Garrison's pupils violently contracted.

David gestured dismissively toward the lifeless, purple-hued face of Professor Harrison on the ice.

"Look at this old professor. From what I hear, he was just about to retire. Oh, right, doesn't he have a ten-year-old daughter?"

Garrison's fingers curled inward, clenching until his knuckles bled of all color.

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