Chapter 402 Warning Signs

Paul let out a long, shuddering breath and unclenched his fists. Only then did he notice his palms were drenched in sweat.

The panic was over–but in its place came a surge of bitter resentment.

He turned to the Powell patriarch. “Grandfather, I can’t wait any longer. Mr. Gerardo’s already been taken care of–there’s no reason to keep Taylor around. Divorce is messy. Widowhood is cleaner.”

Losing her husband and her father in one stroke–Taylor would be left powerless. When that time came, the Kendall Group would be theirs for the taking.

The old man simply nodded, eyes closed, as if this was all part of the natural order.

And so, within just two days, disaster struck on both sides.

Paul was in a car crash.

Taylor nearly died when a piece of construction debris came crashing down from a high–rise above her company’s building.

Alan shoved her out of the way at the last second and took the brunt of it–his arm fractured, his neck in a brace–but he never left Taylor’s side.

Paul didn’t escape unscathed either. In a moment of panic, he yanked the steering wheel, and his driver died in his place.

Now both Paul and Taylor were on full alert–each trying to kill the other, each bracing for the next blow.

As the blood feud escalated, Wyatt had no time to meddle in their war.

Because the lab had just delivered news–and whether it was good or bad was still up in the air.

Four days after being extracted from Saunders Hospital, Elsie had developed a low–grade fever.

Ordinarily, this wouldn’t raise alarms. But under these circumstances, the entire research team was on edge.

Low fever was one of the earliest symptoms of the new infection.

If Elsie was infected, it would mean Yunice and Owen–still inside–were likely exposed as well.

Inside the hospital, Yunice had spent the past few days eating and sleeping with the other volunteers. Her protective suit felt fused to her skin–she hadn’t taken it off once unless absolutely necessary.

Every second counted. Conditions were harsh. That truth had become physical, visceral.

Everyone was so exhausted they could fall asleep standing up.

Owen had lost weight, dark circles hollowing out his face. He sat slumped against a wall, dozing lightly.

Around him, other volunteers were just as worn down. Though only four days had passed, it felt like a lifetime. Between physical exhaustion and mental strain, everyone was nearing their breaking point.

More infections. A new death.

Nobody knew who the next patient would be.

And honestly, if you got a hospital bed, you were one of the lucky ones.

Owen wasn’t just exhausted–he was tormented by worry.

The body he’d helped carry today belonged to a nurse who had treated Mr. Ge.

She was dead.

Owen didn’t know how Elsie was doing. He was terrified she’d end up like that nurse.

She was too weak. If she got sick, she wouldn’t survive it.

He kept replaying the moment in his mind, blaming himself again and again. He shouldn’t have pushed her to study medicine. Shouldn’t have brought her to this hospital to practice. She wouldn’t have been exposed.

Smack.

He slapped himself across the face.

The sound was muted by the protective suit, but still audible.

Yunice glanced back at him with a look like he was a lunatic. He’d been doing this a lot lately.

She didn’t say anything. She got up and headed to the restroom.

These protective suits were almost impossible to take off. To minimize risk, everyone limited bathroom breaks as much as possible.

Inside, she locked the door, peeled off her gear, and dumped it into the medical waste bin. Then, from beneath her clothing, she pulled out the walkie–talkie.

Contact opportunities were few and tightly timed. She had to make them count.

“Lily?” she said softly into the device.

The reply came almost immediately–but it wasn’t Laurie.

It was Wyatt.

“You okay?” His voice was tight, clipped.

Yunice’s brow furrowed. “You’re at the lab?”

It was sealed. He’d given the walkie–talkie to Laurie–reclaiming it would’ve been risky.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

She sank to the floor, resting against the cool tile. Through the small ventilation window, the stars outside blinked faintly. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t try that ‘no bad news‘ routine on me,” Wyatt growled.

“I am fine,” she said again, softly.

But she was tired. So, so tired.

This work was grueling. Even the men were barely hanging on–how was she supposed to manage?

Still… something wasn’t adding up.

If she was fine, why had Wyatt suddenly broken protocol to contact her?

She paused, mind catching up. “Elsie. How is she?”