Chapter 1008
“Done,” Bastian announced, dropping a bloody piece of metal into a tray. “The bullet is out. I’ve sutured the artery. She needs antibiotics and rest.”
“Good work,” Bastian said to himself, peeling off the bloody gloves. “Take the Vance prototype to the guest quarters. Lock him in.”
“No,” Liam stepped forward. “He stays. To monitor her.”
“He goes,” Bastian snapped. “I have questions for our guest. Private questions.”
𝘙𝘦а𝘥 𝗐𝗂𝘁𝘩о𝗎𝘁 𝗂𝘯𝗍𝘦𝘳𝗋𝗎р𝗍𝗶𝗈𝘯𝘀 𝗈𝗻 𝘨al𝘯𝘰𝗏𝗲𝗅𝘀.с𝗼𝘮
The guards dragged Ethan away. Bastian walked over to the table. He picked up a wet cloth and wiped a speck of blood from his cuff.
“So,” Bastian said, leaning in close. “The mountain is gone. The Administrator is dead. But you… you were inside the vault.”
“It was empty,” Skye lied, her voice weak.
“Don’t lie to me, girl.” Bastian’s hand shot out, gripping her chin. His strength was shocking for an old man. “The Administrator spent fifty years looking for the regeneration formula. The Ouroboros elixir. Did you find it?”
“It’s a myth,” Skye whispered. “Grandpa Graves was insane. There is no magic potion.”
Bastian’s face twisted. He released her with a shove, then grabbed a glass vase from a side table and hurled it against the wall. It shattered with a violence that made Skye flinch.
“It is not a myth!” Bastian roared, his composure cracking. “She is waiting for it! She doesn’t have time for your games!”
Skye froze. She?
“Who?” she asked.
Bastian turned away, his chest heaving. “Beatrice. My wife. Your mother-in-law.”
“Beatrice is fine,” Skye said, confused. “She was trying to take over the company just weeks ago. She was… she was evil, but she was healthy.”
Bastian turned back to her, his eyes wet with a manic, desperate rage. “That was adrenaline and experimental stimulants. The Ouroboros serum kept her functioning, kept her powerful. But the supply ran out when you destroyed the labs. She crashed, Skye. Her organs are shutting down. The debt of borrowed time is due.”
He leaned over her, his breath smelling of mint and rot. “If you don’t tell me what was in that vault, I will take you apart piece by piece until I find the memory in your neurons.”
“Father, stop,” Liam interjected, stepping between them. “She needs to recover. If she dies from stress, you get nothing.”
Bastian stared at his son. “You’re soft, Liam. Just like her.”
“I’m practical,” Liam said, his voice steady, though Skye saw the sweat on his brow. “Let her sleep. When she wakes up, her mind will be clearer. She might remember something.”
Bastian glared at her one last time. “One night. If she doesn’t have answers by morning, bring the scalpel back. We won’t be using it for surgery.”
He stormed out of the room, slamming the heavy oak door. The lock clicked.
Silence descended.
Liam signaled for Skye to stay quiet. He checked the corners of the room for cameras, then knelt beside the bed. He used a small pocket knife—hidden in his boot—to cut the zip ties on his wrists.
He let out a long, shaky breath and took her hand. His fingers were cold.
.
.