Unwanted Blood (Harper) novel Chapter 67

Chapter 67

Harper’s POV

When Adrian said I was free, I should have been overjoyed. But with everything still hanging over my head, I couldn’t just let it go.

Why? Why did Adrian give me the medical records? Why give me the nurse’s name? Why hand over the transfer document with shaking hands and then tell me to leave?

Two possibilities.

One: he was actually helping me. He knew what was in those sealed boxes, he knew that once I saw it I wouldn’t be able to walk away, and he was trying to get me out before I crossed a line I

couldn’t come back from.

Two: it was a test. See if I’d actually leave. See whether I was here for the truth or for using him. If I packed my bags and drove away without looking back, he’d know I didn’t care enough to stay. If I stayed, he’d know I was willing to go further than he’d anticipated.

I will leave, but before that, I need to know what was in those boxes.

–

I went downstairs and found Adrian in the corridor near the east wing.

He’d just come back from the building. His face was worse than before-paler, tighter around the eyes, like something had been taken out of him.

“Adrian.” He stopped. Turned.

His eyes met mine and for a second I saw something I couldn’t name. Guilt? Relief? Fear? It vanished too fast to identify.

“You said I’m free,” I said. “When do I get to walk out the front gate?”

“Anytime.” His voice was flat. “You want to go, you can go now.

“I want to leave tomorrow morning.”

He frowned. Just slightly. “Why tomorrow morning?”

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Chapter 67

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“Because tonight I want to sleep in a bed. I want to eat breakfast without being watched And I want to walk out that gate in daylight, like a person, not like someone escaping

“I held his gaze “You owe me that much.”

He was quiet for a long moment. The corridor was silent except for the low hum of the HVAC system somewhere behind the walls.

“Okay,” he said. “Tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock. The car will be at the gate.”

I nodded and turned away. My heart was pounding.

One more night. When everyone would think I was leaving tomorrow, the guards would relax, the patrols would thin, the attention would shift from watching me to preparing my departure.

I had one night.

1:30 a.m.

I changed into dark clothes and soft-soled sneakers.

I slipped out of my room and pressed my back against the hallway wall. The corridor lights were dimmed to their night setting.

I knew the blind spots now. I’d been watching the cameras for weeks. The corner by the staircase had a three-second gap when the lens panned right. The stretch between the dining room and the east wing had a column you could press against and be invisible from either angle.

I moved through them like I’d rehearsed it.

The garden was wet with dew. My sneakers sank into the grass but made almost no sound. The east building loomed ahead-dark, silent, its boarded windows catching the faint moonlight like closed eyes.

I stopped at the corner and counted the guards.

Usually there were four at night. One at the front door, one at the side, one on the perimeter, one on the roof. Now just two-one at the front, slouching against the wall, and one pacing the perimeter lazily.

Of course. Adrian had told everyone I was leaving tomorrow. Why guard a woman who was already packing her bags?

I waited for the perimeter guard to complete his loop. When his back was turned, I moved to the

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Chapter 67

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side of the building and found the window I’d been watching-the second-floor window that opened for ventilation, just for a few minutes each evening.

Tonight it was cracked open maybe four inches. Barely enough. But I was small enough.

I wedged my fingers into the gap, pulled, and the window slid up another inch. I slipped my hands through, found the latch on the inside, and pushed. It rose silently.

I climbed through, dropped onto the floor on the other side, and landed in a crouch.

The corridor inside smelled like antiseptic and old paper. At the far end, from behind a closed door, came the steady mechanical hiss of a breathing machine.

He was here. The old man was asleep.

I moved in the opposite direction. The room where they’d stored the boxes during the day-l’d watched them carry them in, noted the door, memorized the position.

Third door on the left. Unlocked.

I pushed it open and slipped inside.

The sealed boxes were stacked against the far wall. Five of them. Grey plastic, reinforced corners, each one tagged with a handwritten label. I went to the top one-the lid’s latch hadn’t been fully engaged. It was half-clicked, probably rushed during the move. I pressed the release and it popped

open.

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