The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 487

The fingers gripping his shirt finally released. Her ragged gasps smoothed out into long, steady breaths.

...

A while later, Sloane slowly opened her eyes.

The blinding agony had largely receded, leaving behind only a dull, lingering ache around her temples. She realized she was lying on the sofa in the breakroom, Garrison's jacket draped over her. Outside, the afternoon sun had shifted, its light sliced into pale golden ribbons by the blinds, spilling across the coffee table beside her.

Garrison was sitting in a chair nearby. The moment he saw her stir, he sat up straight and grabbed a glass of warm water from the table, handing it to her.

"Drink slowly. The temperature is perfect."

Sloane took the glass and took a few cautious sips. She set it back down, pulled Garrison's jacket tighter around her shoulders, and looked at him.

"Thank you, Dr. Foster. But... you promised me earlier. You can tell me now."

Garrison stared down at the empty syringe resting on the table. The pale blue liquid was entirely in her system now, leaving the clear barrel gleaming cold and pristine in the sunlight.

He picked it up, rolling it between his fingers. He remained silent for several seconds.

"Sloane, do you know what the most vital strain is for synthesizing Vitas-1?"

She shook her head.

"The White Microbe."

Garrison paused, his voice dropping into a solemn, heavy cadence.

"It's an ancient organism found only in the White Lake of Antarctica. For thirty years, the extraction technology was monopolized by a few massive Western corporations. To develop the Vitas Strain, and to break that blockade to secure a steady supply, our country organized an Antarctic expedition five years ago. Project Deep Ice."

When he finished his last sentence, a heavy silence stretched between them. Then, Garrison stood up.

He walked over, leaned down, and gently pulled his jacket higher up her shoulders.

He didn't step away immediately. Instead, he kept his eyes lowered, gazing at her. In the fading light, his amber eyes looked incredibly warm and quiet.

"Sloane, I'm sorry. I hid... so much from you."

Sloane tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

Her eyes traced from his fingers to his face, lingering on those warm brown eyes illuminated by the dusk. Then, she spoke.

"So, Dr. Foster. You like me... because I helped you find the White Microbe. Right?"