Chapter 407

The afternoon sun slanted across the concrete parking lot.

Nathan Evans' fist remained suspended midair, his knuckles white with tension.

Ethan Winston's suit collar was crooked, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

"Enough!" Dylan Lowell abruptly stepped between them. "Evelyn's coming!"

Both men turned.

The empty parking lot held only silent vehicles.

Julian Roscente spread his hands. "Would you have stopped otherwise?"

Nathan's Adam's apple bobbed.

Ethan adjusted his tie, his thumb brushing the blood from his lip.

"Thirty-year-old men," Dylan sighed, "brawling like high schoolers."

Ethan said calmly, "He threw the first punch."

"Serves him right." Nathan smirked.

Julian pocketed his hands. "Keep this up and Evelyn really will show. Who wants to explain their bruised faces then?"

Ethan's fingers stilled.

Nathan looked away.

"Get those cuts checked," Dylan noted the scrapes on Nathan's knuckles.

"Unnecessary." Nathan met Ethan's gaze. "Last warning—stay away from her."

Ethan suddenly smiled. "No harm in trying. At least I still have a chance, unlike you—" He paused. "That ship has sailed."

Nathan's fist clenched again, stopped by Dylan's grip.

"Pathetic." Ethan turned toward his car.

Tires screeched against pavement.

Nathan shook Dylan off. "He's gone. Why bother holding me back?"

"Worth it?" Dylan studied his friend's bloodshot eyes.

Nathan yanked his car door open. "Ask him that."

Another engine roared to life.

Dylan and Julian exchanged glances.

"Damn frustrating." Dylan kicked a pebble.

Julian produced a cigarette pack. "Two lunatics."

"What's Ethan even playing at?"

Julian's lighter hesitated.

Through the smoke, he murmured, "Love doesn't follow logic."

Dylan's eyes widened.

Hearing this from Julian was downright surreal.

So much for "bros before hoes."

So much for playing the field.

Morning light pierced the clouds.

A breeze lifted the lab curtain's edge.

Vincent Macmillan yawned as he pushed open the break room door.

"Adrian?" He rubbed his eyes. "All-nighter?"

At the workstation, Adrian Klein remained motionless.

The pipette in his hand never wavered.

Only after recording the final dataset did he remove his goggles.

"Early start."

"How early?"

"Five."

Vincent whistled. "You're... charger still here? My phone's dead."

"Left cabinet."

"Always so organized." Vincent grumbled. "Can't you just leave it on the table?"

The cabinet door clicked.

Vincent turned abruptly. "Your phone's blinking. Want me to grab it?"

Adrian paused mid-wipe.

"Thanks."

When the screen lit up, his pupils contracted sharply.