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Volume Two · Chapter 68 · Live Test
公開日:
2026-09-07 23:25:08
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Undercover Wolf: My Target, My Girlfriend Volume Two · Chapter 69 · Waking
He didn't know how long he'd slept. When he woke, the lamp was out. Morning light seeped through the gap beneath the door, spreading a broader stripe across the floor than before—like time had traveled a long distance, light widening from narrow to broad, from cold white to warm white. The first thing he felt when he opened his eyes was his left shoulder—no pain, no heat, no pulling. It was just there, like something repaired, waiting to be used again. He looked down at his left arm, pushed up his sleeve—the gray line had faded to a very faint degree, like old ink washed by water, leaving only a blurred outline, barely visible unless you looked closely.Then he felt something else—a hand. Resting on his wrist, fingertips pressed over his pulse, not heavy, like counting a steady beat. He turned his head. Evelyn sat in the chair beside the bed, leaning slightly forward, her hand on his wrist, her fingers positioned exactly where his pulse beat strongest. Her eyes were on his face, looki
Undercover Wolf: My Target, My Girlfriend Volume Two · Chapter 68 · Live Test
He decided to use it on the fourth morning, before full dawn. Light seeped through the gap beneath the door, laying a long gray-white stripe across the floor. He sat on the bed's edge, his left sleeve pushed up to his upper arm—the gray line showed a dark lead-gray under the morning light, running from wrist to shoulder, stopping at the shoulder blade's edge. He'd measured its length with his fingertip last night—a finger's width longer than the day before.He stood, picked up the tin box from the table, opened it, and took out the glass syringe. The barrel was smooth, unmarked; the liquid inside was nearly colorless in the morning light, like air sealed in glass. He didn't hesitate. He carried it to the table, lit the lamp—the flame jumped, and his face was split by the boundary between morning and lamplight.Evelyn sat on the burlap sacks. She'd woken when he picked up the box, but her movements showed no surplus—no sudden rising, no stopping, no questions. She simply straightened f
Undercover Wolf: My Target, My Girlfriend Volume Two · Chapter 67 · Adrian's Progress
Adrian pushed the iron door open on the evening of the third day. His coat bore several new dust marks, and a dark oil stain spread across his left shoulder—like he'd brushed against a mechanical surface. He didn't speak first. He walked to the table, pushed the lamp toward the center, and pulled three glass tubes from his pocket, lining them up on the tabletop in a steady row between his hand and the lamplight. His gaze rested on the row for a moment—not hesitating over words, but giving himself time to arrange them as neatly as the tubes."Theoretically viable," he said.Lane rose from the bed and walked to the table, looking down at the row of tubes. A thin layer of dark residue clung to the inner walls of each—the dried remains of blood. "You have a finished product?""Semi-finished. Capable of neutralizing the curse, but stability hasn't been verified yet." He paused, letting the word settle. "It needs live testing." He picked up one of the tubes and held it to the lamp. Light pa
Undercover Wolf: My Target, My Girlfriend Volume Two · Chapter 66 · Where the Silver Coin Belongs
She returned before dawn. The door made almost no sound when she pushed it open—like she'd spent a long time adjusting the angle and pressure, minimizing the friction of iron against the hinge. She slipped through, closed it behind her, and leaned against the door panel for a moment. Her breathing was steady, not rushed, but her coat shoulders were damp with dew—the dark gray fabric beaded with fine moisture, catching small glints under the oil lamp.Lane sat on the bed's edge, facing the door. His posture had barely changed since she'd left—left hand on his knee, right hand resting on the bed's edge, back against the wall. But he hadn't slept. His eyes were open, fixed on her. She stood by the door for a moment, removed her coat and hung it over the chair back, then walked to the table and sat down. The lamp was still burning, its flame smaller than before, burning slowly on the wick, narrowing the light on the table to a small circle of warm yellow."You saw it," he said. Not a ques
Undercover Wolf: My Target, My Girlfriend Volume Two · Chapter 65 · The Bridge Dismantled
After she said that, the room was quiet for a long time. Not the kind of quiet that needs to be broken—a quiet that was unfolding on its own, like a fabric slowly spreading, folding, repositioning itself. Lane sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees, watching Evelyn. Her fingers rested at the edge of her collar, not gripping, just resting, like she was using them to confirm something that didn't need confirmation. Her head was lowered, her gaze fixed on the fabric in front of her knees, not looking up at him."You tore it," he said."Tore it.""Left it on his desk.""Beside his pen."He looked at her. Morning light seeped through the door gap, falling on the floor before her feet in a patch of warm white. The toe of her boot stopped precisely at the patch's edge—not stepping in, not pulling back. He stood, walked to the table, and relit the oil lamp. The flame jumped on the wick, steadied, pushing the light on the table from gray-white to warm yellow. He stood at the table, bac
Undercover Wolf: My Target, My Girlfriend Volume Two · Chapter 64 · The Weight of Fear
She sat on the floor of the archive for a long time. Not hesitating—her body needed that time to complete the full transition from standing to crouching to sitting, each step half again as slow as normal, like she was using the physical motion to digest something that had happened too quickly. Her back against the table leg, knees drawn to her chest, the paper in her hands, her fingertip pressing against her own signature from more than two years ago. She could feel the paper fibers being slowly pushed away from their original state by her body heat—going from cold to warm, from stiff to slightly soft.She unfolded it again and read it once more. The handwriting was hers. The angle of the stroke endings differed slightly from how she wrote now—two years ago she'd let the last stroke drag a little longer; now she'd learned to close each character cleanly, leaving no tail. But the signature was hers. She recognized the curve of the final stroke in the character "Lin," that slightly elev
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