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Chapter 522
Chapter 522:
Just as he reached the metal counter, Chloe, the junior assistant, turned around too quickly. Her elbow caught an empty glass beaker sitting on the edge of the table.
The beaker fell.
It shattered against the floor in a sharp, explosive crack that split the quiet of the laboratory like a gunshot.
June’s body went rigid.
Her pupils contracted to tiny points. Her breathing spiked instantly into rapid, shallow gasps. In a fraction of a second, her mind dragged her back — the cold, jagged edge of the crystal pressing into her neck, the warm slide of blood, Cole’s face looming above her.
Her hands began to shake. The expensive pipette slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the metal table.
Brogan saw it immediately.
“June?” he said, stepping toward her, his hand reaching for her shoulder.
June reacted as though she had been struck.
She flinched violently away from his hand and stumbled backward, her spine hitting the cold metal of a storage cabinet behind her.
She squeezed her eyes shut. The sound of the breaking glass morphed and echoed in her mind, becoming the sound of crystal shattering on marble. She felt phantom pressure at her throat. It took a long, silent minute — an internal war fought entirely alone — before she managed to force three slow, shuddering breaths into her lungs and pull herself back from the edge.
𝗗о𝘸𝗻𝗹о𝖺𝗱 P𝘋𝘍ѕ 𝖿𝘳𝘦𝗲 𝘰𝗻
When she opened her eyes, the raw vulnerability was gone, shoved back into its cage with both hands.
Her face had settled into a mask of absolute composure.
“I am fine,” June said. Her voice was completely flat, drained of all emotion. “I am just a little tired p>
She gave Chloe a short nod, signaling her to sweep up the glass, then turned back to the table and picked up the pipette. She moved normally — mechanically — though her hands, hidden below the level of the bench, were still trembling.
Brogan’s outstretched hand hung in the empty air for a moment before he let it drop.
He looked at her flawless, expressionless face. A heavy wave of helplessness washed over him.
He set the iced coffee on the table and reached for a lighter, more professional tone. “I reviewed the clinical trial data for the Gen-2 targeted drug last night,” he said gently.
June shifted into work mode instantly.
Her words came fast, her logic razor-sharp. She deployed massive quantities of data and dense biochemical analysis, building a thick wall around herself from the inside out with language and science and precision. She locked herself into the work and functioned like a perfect, tireless machine.
Brogan listened to her analysis and said nothing. He respected her brilliance deeply. But the defeat in his chest grew heavier with every word she spoke.
He understood the truth. June was standing directly in front of him, and her soul was sealed inside a glass fortress — built from severe trauma and absolute self-protection. He wanted to reach in and warm her. He could not even find the door.
The discussion ended twenty minutes later.