CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The first light of dawn spills through the cracks in the heavy curtains, casting a glow on the dust motes that dance like tiny specters in the air. Ford stands by the window, his back to me, a vial clasped firmly in his hand. The muscles in his broad shoulders tense, visible even under the fabric of his shirt.
"Are you sure it will work?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper, the words floating toward him laden with a mixture of hope and fear.
Ford doesn't turn around, but I see his jaw tighten. "It has to," he says, his voice gruff with the weight of our shared desperation.
He uncorks the vial with a decisive flick of his thumb, and I hold my breath. This is the moment that could either shatter us or free us. The potion—gleaming like liquid silver in the soft morning l
