Chapter 399
A mirror was held up to Rylie, showing her reflection—her cheekbones subtly reshaped, her jawline narrower, even the bridge of her nose had been slightly refined.
With the addition of precise makeup work, her once vibrant features now belonged to a pale, worn-out woman, someone seemingly weighed down by years of illness. Her usual clear gaze was dulled by dark brown contacts that swallowed the light in her eyes.
Her hair, now dyed a muted grayish-yellow, had been tied up in a loose, careless bun.
Devin also applied special gel pads to key areas of her body, simulating the slight hunch and thinness brought on by prolonged illness and malnutrition.
Even more remarkably, she had injected a drug that temporarily altered muscle tension, body temperature, and certain physiological responses. The result was a convincing frailty — shallow breathing, low warmth, and a worn-out appearance so precise that even a trained physician would struggle to detect the truth without equipment.
A thin film masked Rylie’s fingerprints, temporarily distorting their unique patterns.
Rylie glanced at her reflection and gave a short remark. “Not bad.”
Marsha entered just as Devin finished packing up. He gave a lazy wave on his way out. “I’m off.”
As he passed her, his hand brushed the edge of her white coat. Rylie’s voice rang out from behind, cool and warning. “Don’t steal anything from the hospital.”
Devin, compelled by the chip in his brain, jerked upright. “Yes!”
His abrupt obedience unsettled Marsha. She instinctively pressed a hand to her chest, then cautiously approached Rylie, now fully transformed. Comparing her to the patient file Ronan had received, Marsha was struck. Rylie was identical to the woman in the records, even down to her posture and mannerisms.
“I wouldn’t have known you were impersonating someone,” she murmured. Marsha hesitated, concern etched into her features. “But… they’ll definitely check fingerprints… run full scans. Are you absolutely sure this will hold?”
Rylie lay back against the bed, eyes drifting shut. “Yes.”
With no choice but to trust her, Marsha escorted the flawlessly disguised rare donor to the designated remote dock. There, Ronan’s team had dispatched a discreet refrigerated truck for pickup. Two men with hard expressions, reeking of salt and fish, handled the reception without a word.
Inside, the truck resembled a compact mobile operating room, packed with sterile instruments and surgical-grade equipment.
Once inside the truck, Marsha discreetly activated a hidden camera cleverly disguised as a button. She tried to appear composed, though her palms were slick with nervous sweat.
One of the men pulled out a tablet, scrolling through the forged medical records and photos she had submitted. He scrutinized Rylie’s face, comparing every detail. Rylie played her part perfectly, her expression dazed and vulnerable, eyes dull and unfocused.
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