Chapter 181
Chapter 181:
She turned back to her desk. The flowers were a distraction, but a welcome one. Tonight, she had a mission.
She looked at the floor plan of the house she had memorized. The East Wing. That was where Cousin Julian was being kept.
She checked her watch. 2:00 AM. The house would be asleep.
She pocketed the signal jammer and the silver needles.
It was time to meet the family.
Night had fallen over the estate. The house was quiet, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.
Aurora dressed in dark, silent clothing. She slipped out of her room and moved toward the East Wing. This was the forbidden zone. The area where Julian Kensington lay sleeping.
She had requested formal access earlier, but Eleanor had blocked her, citing “infection risks” and “Dr. Pym’s strict orders.” Grandpa Vance had overruled her, but Aurora knew she would be watched during the day.
Night was her only ally.
She reached the door to Julian’s room. It was unlocked but guarded by a camera. Aurora pulled the small device from her pocket—the signal jammer. She pressed the button. The red light on the camera blinked off.
She slipped inside.
The room was freezing. The air conditioning was cranked up high, keeping the atmosphere sterile and cold. The only sound was the rhythmic hiss-click of the ventilator.
Aurora approached the bed.
There he was. Her cousin.
Julian Kensington was pale, his skin almost translucent. He was wasted away, his muscles atrophied from years of immobility. But the bone structure was there. The same sharp jawline she saw in old family photos.
R𝗲𝒶𝗅 f𝑜𝓇m 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝑑 ⓐt gⲁ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⧼𝖼𝖮𝖒
She felt a pang of grief—sharp and sudden. This man had fought to protect her when she was a baby. And now, he was a prisoner in his own body.
“I’m here, Julian,” she whispered.
She checked the IV bags hanging by the bed. The chart read Standard Nutrient Solution. She sniffed the tube. It smelled metallic, but that wasn’t enough to prove anything.
She took his wrist. His skin was ice cold. She closed her eyes, focusing on the pulse. It was weak, thready. But underneath the weakness, there was something else. A jagged, irregular rhythm. A resistance.
This isn’t a natural coma.
She pulled a silver needle from her sleeve. Swiftly, she pricked the tip of his finger. A single drop of blood welled up. It was dark, almost purple.
She watched the blood carefully. It didn’t oxygenate quickly. It remained dark.
She touched the needle to the blood. The silver tip tarnished instantly, turning a dull black.
Neurotoxin. Heavy metal based.
It was a slow-acting poison. Just enough to keep the brain suppressed, to keep the muscles paralyzed, but not enough to kill him instantly. Someone was keeping him in this state.
Someone was dosing him every day.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Heavy, purposeful steps.