Reborn In a Murderer’s Embrace (Dexter and Phoebe) novel Chapter 482

I stared at the wall, expecting to see my reflection, but the realization sunk in hard and fast: it wasn't a mirror... it was glass. There were people on the other side, observing me, yet their faces were a blur.

I swung my legs off the bed and slowly approached the glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of the other side, but all I saw was my own confusion staring back at me.

The room felt too spacious, too void of any clues, leaving me to wonder about the intentions of the organization.

Were they testing me? Observing me? They wanted to know if I was indeed Phoebe.

Playing right into their hands, I turned around, grabbed the IV stand with determination, and smashed it against the circuit breaker above, plunging the room into darkness. The power outage unlocked the door.

I stepped out into the deserted corridor when suddenly, a dog charged at me.

"Howler…"

It resembled Howler more than Coly ever did, likely another clone of my faithful companion.

The dog pounced, knocking me down with a look of sheer desperation in its eyes, as if it would tear anything to pieces to satiate its hunger.

It snapped at me.

"Howler!" I blurted out instinctively.

Amidst its frenzied struggle, the dog calmed down, gazing into my eyes before letting out a whimper and collapsing beside me.

It was barely hanging on to life, having used its last ounce of strength to pounce on me. All it had to do was bite my neck to survive.

But it didn’t.

Dogs have a way of understanding humans, a sense of spirit that sometimes makes them more humane than people themselves.

The organization had deliberately starved Howler’s clone, wanting to see if it would attack its owner in a state of frenzy and madness.

But the whole experiment was flawed. Pets could be cloned, but memories couldn’t be copied and pasted.

Is a cloned dog still the same dog?

I stroked the dog's head gently and pushed myself to stand.

The corridor stretched out before me, with arrows pointing me forward.

"Foebe Larson or Phoebe Caldwell?" At the end of the hallway, a man in a lab coat, goggles, and gloves greeted me with a sinister smile.

He was clearly part of the organization, a doctor, perhaps.

"How many are watching me?" I asked, seeking to understand the extent of their surveillance.