Bringing Sloane here was a calculated risk, and Kaizen knew it. The deputy ambassador’s aide leaned in to whisper a few words into his ear. The man’s expression changed almost instantly—his eyes lit up as he turned toward Sloane. "Dr. Rivers… you’ve participated in military pharmaceutical research?" When Kaizen had recommended her over the phone, the embassy had immediately sent inquiries home to verify her background. They hadn’t expected the confirmation to come back so quickly. Sloane nodded. "Yes. I had the privilege of working with Dr. Connor’s medical research team." The deputy ambassador’s face broke into visible relief. "Dr. Rivers, I’ll leave Mr. Jackson entirely in your care." It was official permission—and complete trust. Sloane wasted no time. She placed another pill under Mr. Jackson’s tongue and waited. Moments later, the beeping of the monitors steadied. His blood pressure began climbing from forty to fifty, then to eighty over fifty. It was still dangerously low, but the crisis had passed. "He’s stabilized for now," Sloane said, exhaling slowly. "But the toxin is still in his system. We need to isolate its composition as soon as possible." The deputy ambassador wiped sweat from his brow. "Whatever equipment or medicine you need, I’ll have it arranged immediately." Sloane paused, considering. "I’ll need a quiet, sealed lab—and these." She quickly wrote down several rare herbs. "Some may be difficult to find, but they’re essential." "I’ll handle it," the deputy promised without hesitation. "We have an emergency analysis lab in the compound, usually for testing suspicious materials. I’ll have someone take you there right away." Lucas stepped closer, his voice low. "What do you need me to do?" Sloane looked up, exhaustion flickering briefly in her eyes. "Stay here and monitor Mr. Jackson. Record his vitals every thirty minutes. If his blood pressure drops again, dissolve this powder in warm water and make him drink it." She handed him a small cloth pouch. Their fingers brushed as he took it, and for a moment, the world went quiet. Lucas gave her hand a gentle squeeze—a silent promise that he would not let anything happen on her watch. The deputy ambassador returned. "I’ve already contacted home. The herbs you requested will be delivered within six hours." "That’s good," Sloane said, nodding. "But I’ll need to identify the toxin before then. Only then can I begin creating the antidote." Just then, the deputy’s aide reentered. "Dr. Rivers, the lab is ready. Please follow me." Sloane grabbed her medical case and a vial of Mr. Jackson’s blood sample, then followed the aide down a long corridor. At the end stood a heavy steel door secured by a biometric lock. After the aide’s fingerprint was verified, the door slid open with a low hiss. The lab exceeded her expectations—sterile, brightly lit, with an impressive range of analytical instruments. What caught her attention most was a high-performance liquid chromatograph tucked neatly in the corner. "This setup…" she murmured, genuinely surprised. The aide smiled faintly. "It’s part of last year’s security upgrade. The embassy prepared for potential biochemical threats." Sloane nodded, pulling on gloves. "Perfect." Within moments, she was at work. The vial of blood went into the centrifuge. Once the serum separated, she began a precise sequence of tests—each motion fluid and assured, her concentration absolute. Even in the sterile hum of the lab, her composure stood out: calm, methodical, brilliant. The kind of presence that could bring a dying man back from the edge.