The Whitmore family’s car drove deep into a heavily secured military residential compound in the capital.
Elara said nothing during the drive.
She sat in the back seat with the silver case of Nexo-7 in her hands, watching the city pass outside the window.
The officer sent to pick her up sat in the passenger seat and occasionally glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
She looked impossibly young.
She could not have been much older than twenty.
Yet one word from her at Grandwell Apothecary had been enough for the Whitmore family to send someone to escort her here personally.
The officer could not make sense of it.
What made her so confident?
Half an hour later, the car stopped in front of a heavily guarded courtyard.
“Ms.
Weston, we’re here.”
Elara pushed open the door and got out.
The second she stepped through the Whitmore family gates, she sensed something was off.
More than a dozen cars were parked in the yard, their plates from different countries.
Several bore the insignia of leading international medical institutions.
Inside the villa, the main hall was blazing with light.
A group of gray-haired experts stood clustered together, surrounded by thick stacks of medical records spread across the table.
The sharp smell of disinfectant hung in the air.
Every face in the room was tense.
“Mr.
Whitmore.”
The officer strode over quickly.
Edmund Whitmore, Adrian’s grandfather, sat at the head of the room.
He slowly lifted his gaze.
His hair was streaked with white, but he still carried the quiet authority of a man accustomed to power.
Tonight, exhaustion dulled the sharpness in his eyes.
“You brought her?”
“Yes, sir.”
The officer stepped aside.
Elara walked forward.
In an instant, every eye in the room landed on her.
Quiet murmurs spread through the hall.
“So it’s her?”
“She’s that young?”
“The thing in her hand…
that’s Nexo-7?”
“A student can really save Adrian?”
The room met her with doubt, scrutiny, and, from some, open disdain.
Elara’s expression didn’t change.
She made no attempt to explain herself.
Her gaze swept the room.
“Where’s the patient?”
Edmund spoke in a low voice, “Inside.
But…”
He paused for a beat.
“Ms.
Weston, you should understand this.
Inside that room are some of the best medical experts in the world, and even they haven’t found an answer.”
Elara gave a small nod.
“I know.”
Her composure caught several people off guard.
Then a cold voice cut through the air.
“If you know that, how do you still have the nerve to bring in a drug that hasn’t even passed clinical validation?”
Everyone turned.
A middle-aged woman in a long black dress stepped out from the crowd.
Her expression was composed, but the force of her presence made the room instinctively quiet.
It was Rowena Crane, head of one of the capital’s most established medical families.
The Crane family had deep roots in medicine.
The family also had significant influence over Vanguard Medical Center.
Right now, her eyes were locked on the Nexo-7 in Elara’s hand.
“Give me the drug.”
Elara looked up at her.
“Why?”
Rowena’s voice turned colder.
“Adrian is in critical condition.
He needs medication immediately.
And here, I’m the one most qualified to administer it.”
“At the very least, I know this drug’s composition better than you do.”
A faint hint of amusement touched Elara’s expression.
“Are you sure?”
Rowena frowned.
Elara set the medicine box down on the table.
“You don’t even know how this thing is really supposed to be handled, so what gives you the right to touch it?”
The second she said that, silence swept through the hall.
Rowena’s expression darkened.
“What did you just say?”
Elara calmly flipped open the box.
Inside lay a clear syringe filled with colorless medication.
“This batch of Nexo-7 is more highly purified than any comparable drug currently available.”
“And that’s exactly the problem.”
Elara lifted her gaze, her eyes steady and cold.
“It’s too pure to be used straight away.
It has to go through special processing first.
Otherwise—”
She paused.
“It’s poison.”
Rowena gave a dismissive laugh.
“That’s absurd.
If it’s meant to treat him, how can it suddenly become poison?”
Elara’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest.
“There’s nothing wrong with the drug itself.
The problem is how it’s used.”
It was obvious Rowena didn’t buy a word of it.
“A student who isn’t even qualified to work in a laboratory thinks she can lecture us on how to use this drug?”
“Because I’m the one who developed it.”
Elara answered matter-of-factly.
Rowena went still.
Before she could respond, a violent crash came from the adjoining room.
“Bang—!”
It sounded like something had slammed viciously into the wall.
Right after that came a man’s growl, crushed down to the edge of breaking.
Everyone in the hall tensed.
Edmund shot to his feet.
“It’s happening again?”
The doctor beside him nodded at once.
“It’s been ten minutes already.”
“The sedative isn’t working.
The muscle spasms are getting worse and worse.
If this keeps going…”
The doctor didn’t finish the sentence.
No one needed him to finish.
Adrian was running out of time.
Edmund closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, his voice was low and grave.
“Who can guarantee it?”
“Who can guarantee that if this drug is used, he’ll definitely live?”
The entire hall fell silent.
No one answered.
Even the renowned specialists in the room lowered their eyes.
It wasn’t that they didn’t want to save him.
They just didn’t dare.
Adrian’s position made the stakes even higher.
If they administered an experimental drug and he died, none of them wanted to bear the consequences.
“I’ll do it.”
Elara’s calm voice broke the silence.
Everyone looked up at once.
Elara was standing there, not a trace of hesitation on her face.
“I guarantee it.”
Rowena gave a cold laugh.
“And what exactly are you offering as a guarantee?”
Elara met her gaze.
“My own life.”
The room fell silent.
Edmund stared at her.
“Do you even know what you’re saying?”
“I do.”
Elara nodded.
“If he dies, I die with him.”
She said it without hesitation.
There was nothing casual about the promise, but her expression never changed.
Edmund studied her for a long moment, then lifted a hand.
“Take her in.”
…
The door opened slowly, releasing a wave of cold air.
The room was almost completely dark.
Heavy curtains blocked the daylight, leaving only a dim lamp glowing in one corner.
The moment Elara stepped inside, she heard the sharp clatter of chains.
“Clang—”
A man was restrained to the bed, heavy cuffs securing his wrists and ankles.
He was tall and broad-shouldered.
Illness had drained the color from his face, but his presence was still intimidating.
His black hair was soaked through with cold sweat at the forehead.
His breathing came fast and rough, and the veins stood out from his neck all the way to the back of his hands.
The next second, the man jerked his head up, and a pair of pitch-black eyes opened in the dark.
His gaze was cold, dangerous, and perilously close to losing control.
“Get out.”
His voice was hoarse, but the command in it was unmistakable.
Elara didn’t move.
She stood three meters from the bed and looked at him quietly.
Adrian’s fingers suddenly clenched, and the chains rattled hard.
“I said get out.”
Elara still didn’t budge.
Instead, she took one step closer.
“Your name is Adrian?”
The man whipped his gaze toward her.
“Who are you?”
“Elara.”
“A doctor?”
“Yeah.”
Adrian gave a short, humorless laugh, the edge of sarcasm unmistakable.
“That young?”
Elara ignored the jab completely.
Her gaze moved from his pupils to his hands, neck, and the muscles still twitching beneath his skin.
A few seconds later, she spoke.
“Neurofibrous Dysplasia Syndrome.”
Adrian’s pupils tightened.
The officer nearby went still.
They had never released that diagnosis to the public, yet Elara had named it just by looking at him.
“Abnormal nerve fiber overgrowth.
Disordered structure.”
“Nerve signal transmission is out of control.”
“That’s why you have constant pain, muscle spasms, and episodes of neurological instability.”
“When it gets bad, your brain starts losing control over your body.”
Adrian said nothing.
For the first time, he studied her with genuine attention.
Elara went on, “They told you this disease can’t be cured.”
“Right.” Adrian’s voice was rough and low.
“Every doctor said the same thing.”
“But I don’t.”
The man said nothing.
Elara walked to the bedside and took out the Nexo-7.
“Your condition isn’t hopeless.
They just went the wrong way with it.”
Adrian’s gaze settled on the drug in her hand.
“You want to use me as a test subject?”
“No.” Elara’s voice was calm, almost flat.
“You need me.”
Adrian’s eyes darkened.
Then, out of nowhere, he laughed.
“Interesting.”
“Do you have any idea how many people have died by my hand?”
Elara glanced at the iron chain locked around his wrist.
“You can’t even control yourself right now.
Who exactly are you going to kill?”
Adrian’s smile disappeared.
The officer nearby drew a sharp breath.
Few people in the Whitmore family would have dared speak to Adrian that way.
Elara, however, said it in a completely matter-of-fact tone, as though the answer were obvious.
Adrian studied her for a long moment.
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“Why would I be?” Elara replied.
“You’re the patient.
I’m the doctor.
I’m here to treat you.”
She paused, her eyes settling on the man’s pale face.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Something unreadable flickered in Adrian’s eyes.
The illness had worn him down for years.
People who saw him during an episode always reacted the same way—with fear.
Elara alone remained calm.
She did not look at him as though he were dangerous or broken.
Elara lifted the medicine in her hand.
“I can treat you.
But it will be extremely painful, and there is a real chance you could die.”
“If that happens, I’ll answer for it with my life.”
She held his gaze and spoke each word clearly.
“Mr.
Whitmore, are you willing to take that risk with me?”
In the darkness, the man fell silent for a few seconds.
Then the faintest smile appeared.
It was faint, but it was the first genuine sign of interest he had shown all night.
“Alright.”
“I’ll take the risk.”