Chapter 6 - The Race Against Time
The west wing was deadly quiet when I burst back through the double doors. Lucas and Leo were still sleeping, their breathing shallow, rhythmic, and painfully weak.
I grabbed the portable medical kit from the side table, tearing open sterile syringes and saline drips. According to the data packet we had just extracted from Blake’s tablet, the compound wasn't just a neurotoxin—it was a heavy metal chelating agent mixed with a synthetic paralytic that systematically blocked cellular ATP production.
If we didn't flush their systems within the hour, the organ damage would become irreversible.
The door swung open behind me. Vincent strode in, carrying a heavy titanium vial stamped with pharmaceutical warning labels.
"Is this it?" I asked, snatching it from his hands.
"Blake confirmed it. The antidote," Vincent said, walking over to Leo’s bed, his massive hands trembling slightly as he brushed a strand of dark hair from his son's sweaty forehead. "Can you administer it?"
"I have to dilute it precisely," I said, my fingers flying over the syringe measurements. "Too fast, and it’ll shock their hearts. Too slow, and the toxin will permanently bind to their neural receptors."
For the next twenty agonizing minutes, the room was suspended in time. The only sound was the soft beep of the heart monitors and our own synchronized breathing. I worked with the precision of a surgeon, injecting the clear serum slowly into the intravenous lines of both boys.
Vincent stood guard by the door, his eyes darting down the hallway, listening for any sound outside the room.
"Done," I whispered, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. "Now we wait."
"How long?" Vincent asked, his voice strained.
"Usually, the fever breaks within thirty minutes if it works."
We sat in silence on the edge of the bed, a ruthless mafia king and a disgraced toxicologist, holding the hands of two innocent children caught in a war they never chose.
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Twenty minutes passed.
Then, Leo let out a sudden, sharp gasp.
