Yunice tapped her chest emphatically. “The real value is in me, the person.”
Quinton scoffed. “What can a mentally ill girl do?” He was convinced she was bluffing to get away.
Yunice closed her eyes. “If you have a terminal illness, just tell me. I guarantee it’ll be more effective than your current brutal methods.”
The moment her eyelids closed, the guard beside her struck the gong again with a deafening clang.
“Enough!” Yunice snapped her eyes open, glaring with murderous intent.
Quinton watched in fascination. This fragile, unstable girl seemed to have another side to her, one he hadn’t expected. His interest piqued, he pulled up a chair and sat across from her. “You can treat illnesses?”
Yunice studied his face for a moment. “You don’t sleep well, do you? Three hours a night at most.”
“That’s normal for someone like me. That proves nothing.”
Yunice held out her hand. “Give me your wrist.”
Quinton complied. Leaning forward, she pressed her fingers to his pulse. In less than thirty seconds, she confirmed her suspicion. “You have a tumor on your pancreas.”
Quinton froze. He’d had a full body scan just two weeks ago. How could she be so sure of this?
Yunice leaned back. “Believe it or not. It’s not my problem if your stomach condition goes untreated.”
Quinton’s eyes narrowed. He did suffer from chronic stomach problems, but no tests had ever pinpointed the cause. Could the girl actually diagnose diseases?
Yunice then looked at the guard holding the gong and scoffed. “Stop overusing that hand. You won’t grow a second one when it’s ruined.”
The man flushed. Quinton realized she’d hit the mark again. If Yunice really had this ability… His expression darkened. Did this mean he really had a tumor?
Quinton looked at her with newfound seriousness. “Can you apply all the cases from the medical notebook?”
Yunice yawned. “I can, but traditional medicine requires flexibility based on the individual. Even with the…”
She locked eyes with him. “A millimeter’s deviation…,” her voice sharpened, “…leads to a thousand-mile error.” Medicine did not tolerate carelessness. In the wrong context, a life-saving remedy could become disposal.
Quinton’s face tightened. For the first time, he saw real sharpness in Yunice’s gaze. She was far more fascinating than Elsie.
“Mr. Quinton,” an underling rushed in and whispered to him.
Quinton’s brow furrowed. “What’s he doing here?”
Seeing his sudden tension, Yunice braced herself, but trapped in the chair, she was powerless. Then, with a metallic crash, the warehouse door was kicked open.
Quinton’s expression darkened. He motioned to his men and slipped out a side exit. The remaining guard fumbled with Yunice’s bonds, but before he could unlock them, a boot slammed into his side, sending him sprawling.
Taking advantage of the chaos, the man scrambled to his feet and fled, leaving Yunice behind. Dazed, Yunice looked up to see Jordan working on her locks. Everything happened too fast; it felt surreal, like a dream.
Only then did it dawn on her. Someone had come to rescue her. As she opened her mouth to ask how Jordan had found her, a tall figure stepped through the doorway, backlit by the harsh outside light. His strides were long but labored, his shadow stretching ominously across the floor.
Wyatt’s chest heaved violently. Only when he saw Yunice unharmed did his breathing calm. Yunice noticed his pallor, the sweat beading at his temples, and the exhaustion weighing on his eyelashes. He was clearly at the end of his rope.
Her heart clenched. Had he come here… for me?
“Ms. Saunders, can you walk?” Jordan asked, offering a hand after he had freed her.
Yunice stood quickly. “I can.”
Jordan exhaled in relief. “Good. Let’s get you out.” The moment she took a step, darkness swallowed her vision. Her knees buckled.
Jordan caught her instinctively, then tensed. His eyes darted to Wyatt. "Wyatt, l—" The rest was lost to the overwhelming events. Jordan carefully guided Yunice by the arm, keeping his grip respectful.