CHAPTER 4: The Poison's Toll
A sudden wave of dizziness hit Grace like a physical blow. The edges of her vision frayed into static, and the industrial lights overhead seemed to hum at a deafening pitch. She stumbled, catching herself against a metal desk.
"Grace?" Miller stepped forward, steadying her arm.
"The... the drops," she muttered, her breath coming short. "He's been dosing me for three months. I thought it was just fatigue."
Miller’s face darkened with grave concern. He guided her to a cot in the corner and pulled a medical kit from beneath a shelf. "It's an organophosphate derivative. It accumulates in fatty tissues. Without the daily dosage, you’re going into acute withdrawal, but the long-term toxicity is what does the damage."
He administered an injection of atropine from a small sealed ampoule into her shoulder. The sharp sting anchored her back to reality. Within minutes, the ringing in her ears subsided, replaced by a cold, searing clarity.
"How long do I have before my body crashes?" she asked, looking up at him with unyielding determination.
"A couple of days before the systemic fatigue sets in," Miller said quietly. "We need to finish this before then."
Grace looked at her own trembling hands, then closed them into tight, resolute fists. For months, she had felt fragile, gaslit into believing she was losing her sanity. But the weakness was a chemical lie. Her mind was intact, and her resolve was unbreakable.
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"Clara said you have the missing ledger keys," Grace stated. "Let's open them."
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