Two nurses scrambled. Gloves on. Bag sealed. The plant disappeared behind plastic. Jermaine exhaled, dizzy with adrenaline. But the baby was still fading.
Dr. Rook started pacing. “We need a neutralizing agent, but the dosage for an infant is delicate. We cannot risk further harm.”
Jermaine remembered another lesson. Miss Inez, stirring a black mixture in a clay bowl.
“Charcoal is hungry,” she would say. “It eats poison. It does not argue. It eats.”
A small jar on the counter caught his eye. Activated charcoal powder. Medical-grade. Jermaine stepped forward. One guard grabbed his shoulder. Jermaine twisted free.
“Give him charcoal,” Jermaine said. “Mixed with water. Just a little. Enough to bind the poison. It works faster than most think.”
“That is not protocol,” Dr. Rook snapped.
Gregory looked at his son, then at Jermaine. His voice dropped to a razor whisper.
“What if he is right?”
Vivian nodded, frantic. “Do it. Do anything.”
Dr. Rook hesitated for one more heartbeat. Then he ordered, “Prepare a micro-dose. Move.”
The nurse mixed the charcoal in water. Jermaine’s stomach twisted. If he was wrong, they would blame him. If he was right, the world might change in ways he was not ready for.