Chapter 505

Had he collapsed or was he unconscious?

His pale complexion blended with the moonlight, making Alexander Whitmore nearly invisible against the dirt path. Evelyn Carter hadn't noticed his striking features when she first saw him sprawled on the ground.

Her fingers found his wrist, checking for a pulse.

With practiced precision, she pressed specific pressure points along his body, then firmly massaged the philtrum beneath his nose. After several tense moments, his eyelids fluttered open.

Those eyes. Cold as Arctic ice.

Before she could react, his hand shot up, fingers closing like a vice around her throat.

Evelyn's vision blurred instantly. The man clearly believed she meant him harm.

Her face turned an alarming shade of purple as she gasped for air. Despite her struggles, he held her effortlessly, like a predator with its prey.

"Who sent you?" His voice was gravelly with suspicion.

"What do you want?"

"Planning to finish what they started?"

Three rapid-fire questions left no space for answers. Evelyn's eyes rolled back as oxygen deprivation set in.

Blood trickled from his temple down his sharp cheekbone, dripping onto the damp earth. The wound looked serious, yet he showed no sign of pain.

Moonlight cast eerie shadows across his face, transforming his features into something demonic - a fallen angel dragging victims into darkness.

With her last ounce of strength, Evelyn managed to wheeze: "I'm... trying... to help you..."

A cruel laugh escaped his bloodied lips. "Help me? Why would you bother?" His grip tightened fractionally. "People like me don't deserve saving. The world would cheer if I died tonight."

His eyes held a terrifying emptiness. This wasn't bravado - he genuinely didn't care if he lived or died.

Something about that hollow gaze ignited Evelyn's defiance. Despite her choking, she locked eyes with him. "If death doesn't scare you... why fear living?"

Alexander's lips curled. "What's the point? Survival in this hellhole just means existing as a walking corpse." His gaze dropped pointedly to her leg. "Is that your inspiration to keep breathing, 879? That mangled limb of yours?"

The prison code number stitched on her uniform burned against her skin like a brand.

A chill wind whipped through her loose trousers, outlining the twisted scar tissue. The old injury still ached, especially on damp nights like this. She unconsciously shifted her weight to her good leg.

His mocking observation hit its mark. Evelyn did walk like someone broken.

Suddenly, anger overrode fear. "If you're so eager to die," she rasped, "then let go and I'll put you down permanently." Her fist clenched. "Three seconds is all I need."

The challenge hung between them like a gauntlet thrown.