The moment she turned, she saw him, the stranger. The same one who had brought Lucian to Abigail's place. He stood by the door, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"Isn't this a bad idea?" he said flatly.
"I don't care," Olivia shot back. "He'll die if I don't get that gland."
There was a pause.
Then, without a word, he stepped forward and rolled up his sleeves. "Then let's get to work."
Together, they dragged the first corpse onto the table. Olivia's hand hovered above the scalpel for a moment too long.
"Don't hesitate," the stranger said.
"I know what I'm doing," she snapped, more to herself than to him.
She made the incision. And then another.
They moved fast, slicing, searching. Each corpse brought new hope—only to crush it all over again.
No gland.
Second body… nothing.
Third… deflated sac.
Fourth… ruptured tissue.
Her hands were shaking again. Her apron was drenched in sweat. "Why don't they have it?" she hissed, frustration bubbling into her voice.
