Chapter 61
Chapter 61:
Tyler shrank back, terrified of expulsion.
Arthur stepped forward, placing a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “A gentleman honors his bets, son. But I don’t want you to choke. Just say ‘I was wrong’ and we’ll call it even p>
Tyler looked at his shoes. He looked at the crowd. He looked at Aurora’s cold eyes.
“I… I was wrong,” he mumbled.
Then he turned and ran, pushing through the crowd to escape the humiliation.
The students booed him as he fled.
Arthur hugged Aurora, tears shining in his eyes. “You showed them, Rory. You really showed them p>
Aurora smiled, hugging him back. But over his shoulder, her eyes were already scanning the street outside. Her phone was buzzing in her pocket.
The academic victory was just a side quest. The real war was waiting. Professor Yinn was the target, and this score was just the bait.
Aurora left the campus an hour later, needing to clear her head. The adrenaline of the confrontation had faded, leaving her restless. She walked through the busy downtown district, the noise of the city washing over her.
She was passing the entrance of the Grand Millennium Hotel when a commotion erupted near the valet stand.
“Help! Someone help her p>
A woman’s scream pierced the air.
Aurora stopped. She saw a small crowd gathering around a figure on the ground.
She pushed through the onlookers. A well-dressed older woman was lying on the pavement, clutching her chest. Her face was turning a terrifying shade of blue. Her eyes were rolled back.
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It was Professor Catherine Yinn. The Nobel-prize-winning economist. The woman whose endorsement every corporation in the city was fighting for.
“She’s not breathing!” her assistant screamed, shaking Yinn’s shoulders.
Bystanders were holding up phones, recording, but no one was moving. The fear of liability laws held them frozen.
Aurora’s medical instinct kicked in. She pulled her cap low over her face and adjusted her sunglasses. She couldn’t be recognized here, not like this.
She dropped her bag and knelt beside Yinn, positioning her body to block the view of the nearest cameras.
She pressed two fingers to Yinn’s wrist. The pulse was thready, chaotic. Acute heart failure.
“Call 911!” Aurora commanded, her voice cutting through the panic.
She opened her bag and retrieved a small, unassuming leather pouch. She unfurled it on the pavement, keeping it shielded by her coat. As she moved, the silk scarf tied to her bag handle—a vibrant pattern of azure and gold—brushed against Yinn’s trembling hand.
Inside the pouch, glimmering in the sunlight only for Yinn’s fading eyes to see, were twelve gold needles.
A bystander shouted, “What is she doing? Those are needles! She’s going to stab her p>
“Stop her!” someone yelled. “You’ll kill her p>
The assistant tried to grab Aurora’s arm. “Get away from her p>
Aurora looked up. Her hazel eyes were blazing with such intensity behind her glasses that the assistant froze mid-motion.