Chapter 37 The Temple Of Flesh And Blood

• The CDC mobile unit was a marvel of modern medicine, a white, sterile box humming with technology designed to cheat death. But it was also a cage, and after days within its plastic-walled confines, the world outside felt like a myth.
• Alexander’s recovery, physically, was progressing faster than Thorne had dared hope. The Lin Protocol was a resounding success. The synthetic prions were being systematically hunted and neutralized. But the damage they had wrought was not just neural; it was spiritual. The tremors in his hand were lessening, but the tremor in his soul was a constant quake.
• He was drowning in the silence between interrogations. Vance’s questions were sharp, precise scalpels, dissecting his business dealings with cold efficiency. But they left the core of the wound—the personal, raw, and bleeding part—untouched. He needed air. He needed to feel something other than the recycled, antiseptic breeze of the unit.