Asher’s POV
No matter how much I try to regain my strength, my body refuses to cooperate. I feel weak—too weak. My vision is still blurry, and every movement feels like dragging myself through thick mud.
"What did you inject into me?" I manage to say, my voice hoarse. My fingers tremble as I weakly pull the syringe from my arm. I try to stand, but my legs betray me, and I stumble back. Isabella reaches for me, but I’m too heavy for her to hold up.
"Don’t fight it, Asher," Zachary taunts, his laughter ringing in my ears. "No matter how hard you try, you’ll remain weak." His amusement is sickening. "I knew you’d be stupid enough to show up here, so of course, I was prepared."
"Zach, undo what you’ve done!" Isabella pleads, her voice laced with desperation. "He might die!"
"Wouldn’t that
