The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 259

"Sloane, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"How are you holding up, Sloane?"

"Sloane, talk to us!"

Panicked, frantic questions rained down on her. But Sloane didn't look up, nor did she answer. Instead, she lowered her head, unzipped a pocket on her drysuit, and pulled something out.

A sampling tube.

She raised her head, her gaze sweeping past every anxious face before finally settling on Garrison.

Garrison froze, feeling as if he had just taken a sledgehammer to the chest.

He knew exactly what she was about to do.

He held out both hands, cupping them in the air as if preparing to catch a fragile, priceless artifact—terrified that if his palms shifted even a millimeter, it would shatter.

Sloane placed the tube gently into his hands.

Through the clear glass, a cluster of algae-like microorganisms swayed slightly, emitting a faint, ethereal blue glow that pulsed steadily like a heartbeat.

Garrison looked down, his fingers closing carefully around the glass.

These microscopic lifeforms, which had slept in the abyssal darkness for millions of years, now lay quietly in his palm. This was The White Microbe. The live sample that would allow his research to continue. The key to synthesizing a miracle cure that would save millions of cancer patients.

It was the prize Sloane had bought with her own life.

A chaotic torrent of emotions crashed through Garrison. He looked up and opened his mouth, but he had absolutely no idea what to say.

A simple "thank you" was far too hollow.

He felt that saying it out loud would be a pathetic insult to what she had just done.

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