The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 88

"Are you really giving it to them?" Sloane asked softly.

Garrison paused. He secured the lid of the nitrogen container and stared at the remaining mother strain in the dish.

"Without The White Microbe, this sample only has a lifespan of about a month anyway."

He spoke quietly, as if rationalizing it to himself. "Even if I keep it, it won't survive. It's better to... trade it for Archie."

Garrison locked the nitrogen container inside a reinforced black briefcase. His gaze lingered on the original sample for one last second before he looked away.

Wordlessly, he grabbed the handle and strode out of the lab. Watching his retreating figure, an overwhelming sense of helplessness washed over Sloane.

Ten years.

He had dedicated an entire decade of his life to this research.

No one understood the grueling sacrifices he had made better than she did.

All his ambition, his blood, sweat, and tears—condensed into one fragile little vial.

But she couldn't stop him. She didn't want to.

Archie was her entire world, too.

"Garrison..." Sloane called out instinctively.

Garrison turned around, looking at her with a guarded expression.

"What is it?"

Seeing the raw agony mixed with absolute resolve in his amber eyes, Sloane hesitated. "Nothing... go start the car. I'll be right down."

*

By seven that evening, the car idled outside the gates of an abandoned facility on the extreme outskirts of the city.

Night had fallen, leaving only a violent slash of crimson light on the western horizon. The silhouette of The Old Northside Chemical Plant looked sinister in the gloom. Rusted steel beams clawed upward like skeletal fingers, while the wind rattled the loose corrugated metal.

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