NovelEnglishChapter 82 (Angel's POV) The hallway was eerily quiet, save for the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. My sneakers squeaked softly against the linoleum floor as I made my way toward the West Wing. I wasn't entirely sure why I was heading there-it wasn't like I expected the journal to suddenly reappear, or for Dr. Nixon to miraculously handanswers on a silver platter. But something was pulling me, like a magnetic force I couldn't resist that particular night. The night before was a disaster with Hendrix and I didn't want to remember our awkward conversation.
Just as I turned the corner, I nearly collided with Dr. Nixon. She looked startled for a split second before her face smoothed into that cold, unreadable mask she always wore. Her clipboard was clutched tightly in her hands, and her gaze swept overlike a scanner assessing for weakness.
"Angel," she said sharply yet quietly, as though she didn't want anyone else to hear. "What are you doing here?" "I was... just walking," I lied, trying to sound casual. But the way her eyes narrowed toldshe didn't believe a word of it.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇt"You need to be careful," she said as she stepped closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "There's an inspection coming. Soon. And if you're not careful, everything you've been doing... everything you've found... will be exposed." My heart skipped a beat. "Inspection? What kind of inspection?" She glanced around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Dr. Joe is tightening his grip. He's looking for... anything out of place. Any excuse to eliminate threats. Stay alert, Angel. And stay out of his way." Before I could ask her anything else, she brushed pastand disappeared down the hall. I stood there, frozen, as her words echoed in my head like a bell. An inspection. Dr. Joe was planning something, and it wasn't going to be good.
And the journal-it was still gone. My number one suspect, Ava, had been unusually quiet lately. I hadn't seen her in days, and every tI tried to look for her, she seemed to vanish into thin air. Was that intentional? Was she hiding because she had the journal? Or was I grasping at straws, desperate for someone to blame? I leaned against the wall, rubbing my temples as my anxiety got worse. If Dr. Joe found out about my plans, my snooping, my connection with Dr. Nixon-it would all be over. And the journal? That would be the final nail in my coffin. For the first tin a long while, I felt truly helpless.
(Ava's POV) The faucet dripped once, twice, in a slow and rhythmic pattern that was just like the pounding in my chest. I stared at the black box on my desk as my stomach twisted into knots. Dr. Joe's instructions had been clear, but that didn't make it any easier.
The new task was simple or at least, it sounded simple. Switch out the patients' water supply with the liquid from the bottle he'd given me. Then, replace a batch of medicine in the storage room with another set of pills marked in red. Lastly, retrieve a folder from the sub-administrative office a folder containing patient reports and deliver it to Dr. Joe before morning.
Simple in theory. But the weight of what I was doing crushed me. I was tampering with people's lives. Again. And for what? To clear my mother's debt? To earn a sliver of freedom from Dr. Joe's suffocating grasp? I sank onto the edge of my bed and buried my face in my hands. The questions started swirling in my head; they were loud and with each one that went, ten more came.
Am I doing the right thing? Of course. I have to. For Mom.
But what about the patients? What about their lives? They're just... numbers to him. Aren't they? Is this worth it? Is this who I've become? No, I'm still me. I'm still Ava. This is temporary. A means to an end.
But what if it isn't temporary? What if I'm stuck in this cycle forever? I won't be. I can't be. I'll find a way out.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmDoes that makea monster? A coward? Or just... desperate? I don't know anymore.
The questions ran on and on, each one cutting deeper than the last. I felt like I was spiraling: was trapped in a web of my own making. And Dr. Joe he was the spider at the center, pulling the strings, watchingsquirm.
I glanced at the black box again, and my chest tightened even more. The bottle, the pills, the folder-they were att waiting for me. And Dr. Joe was waiting too. His cold blue eyes and sharp smile haunted my thoughts. I had no choice. Not really. I stood, even though my legs were shaky but determined. If I didn't do this, my mother would pay the price. And I couldn't let that happen.
But as I opened the box and stared at its contents, a part ofwhispered that I was losing pieces of myself. Little by little, task by task, I was becoming something I didn't recognize. And I didn't know if I could stop it.
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