NovelUSAChapter 563 Manley and Travis spent a good while trading barbs with Weston, their voices rising and falling in the cramped hospital hallway.
Suddenly, both father and son seemed to recall something important, and their gazes shifted to Citrine.
Travis looked at her, concern etched deep into his features. "Citrine, I heard from the director-you haven't slept a wink these past few days, working around the clock to develop a cure. You've barely touched your meals." Manley's voice was thick with worry. "You should get srest, Citrine. We can handle things here." With their words hanging in the air, Weston and Raymond finally noticed the exhaustion shadowing Citrine's face the dark circles beneath her eyes, the bloodshot whites. Her cheeks had grown hollower, her jawline too sharp, making her look far younger and yet terribly worn down.
She must have run herself ragged these last few days.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtRaymond and Weston both felt a sting in their eyes as they watched her, hearts aching at the sight of her drawn, tired face.
After sgentle cajoling, they finally convinced Citrine to go get smuch-needed rest.
She could barely keep her eyes open as she trudged back to her suite, and the moment she hit the bed, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It was the most restful-and the longest-sleep she'd had in ages. Citrine didn't wake for a full twenty-four hours. When she finally opened her eyes, her first thought was to check on Raymond and Weston.
By then, both men had already taken the experimental medication the research team had worked tirelessly to produce. Combined with Citrine's earlier efforts- lowering their fevers, disinfecting, and administering antiviral drugs at the onset of their illness-they were already beginning to recover. They looked far more alert, a hint of color returning to their faces.
The research center was bursting at the seams. Beds were full, and patients with milder cases of the flu were given medicine and sent home. In the past two days, many had started to recover.
At this point, Crestwood Medical Research Center had becthe only institution in the country capable of treating victims of this outbreak.
The intewas flooded with praise.
"Everyone, get to Crestwood Medical! I picked up their medicine a few days ago and I'm already back to normal." "The doctors and nurses at Crestwood are so compassionate. They treat every patient with real kindness and patience." "Hurry up and go-the research center has developed both a cure and a preventative treatment!" "And their medicine is so affordable, less than fifty bucks per person. They're practically giving it away." Within a single day, thanks to this online buzz, people began lining up outside Crestwood as early as four or five in the morning just to get a spot.
Seven traveled through the night from neighboring states, desperate for help.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmBut as more and more people arrived, resources at the hospital were stretched to the limit. Sstood in fine all day without ever making it inside. In the days that followed, the news reported that many flu patients had died while waiting for treatment.
Watching the mounting death toll on the news each night, Citrine wrestled with a sense of helplessnesseunti finally, an ideal struck. That evening, she registered a video account verified her credentials as a national senior medical researcher, and went live. św
At first, her livestream was a ghost town. This was her first tin front of the camera and, desin her curiosity, she felt awkward and out of place. Ten minutes passed, and not a single viewer showed up.
Just as she was about to end the stream, someone finally joined.
"Wow, you're so pretty! Why are you up so late, streaming?"
The comment caught Citrine off guard. She hesitated, then clicked on the user's profile-a ixiddle-aged ser's profilesa woman's account, but the tone in the chat was more like that of a mischievous kid. Citrine couldn't help but smile. "And why are you up so late? Don't tellyou're sneaking your mom's phone to play games?"
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