He lunged at Holden, wanting to deal with Holden with the method he had used with Adrian before. But Holden was no pushover. They were evenly matched, a deadly dance with neither gaining the upper hand.

Holden, however, fought with a nagging worry, his focus flickering toward Ariana, ensuring she stayed out of harm's way. Moss exploited this lapse, his hand snaking out to grab Ariana's shoulder.

Holden's eyes narrowed in annoyance. He countered swiftly, shoving Moss back to protect Ariana. The fight devolved into a brutal stalemate.

The two were trapped in an extended impasse, both refusing to give up.

During their fight, Moss managed another desperate grab. This time, the fabric of Ariana's clothes ripped under the strain, tearing from her neckline to her sleeves, revealing a glimpse of her undershirt.

Ariana was in Holden's arms, leaving Moss clutching a shred of torn cloth, his frustration exploding into a feral roar.

He flung the useless scrap aside, ready to renew his assault. But then, something caught his attention.

There was a birthmark on Ariana's shoulder blade that resembled petals.

“No wonder..." Moss halted in shock. "No wonder the data matched perfectly. She is..."

Holden, oblivious to Moss' revelation, was concerned about Ariana's clothes being ripped.

Seizing the opportunity, Holden landed a decisive blow on Moss' face, aiming to end this madness and escape with Ariana and Adrian.

Moss didn't pass out from the punch. He just staggered back a few steps.

Leaning against the wall, Bennett, the picture of weary detachment interjected coolly, "Moss, shouldn't you be checking the ice coffin."

The reminder jolted Moss. His face drained of color as he stumbled towards the ice coffin. The machinery had whined to a halt, and the once-preserved beauty of the corpse had begun its gruesome descent into decay, the stench of death filling the air.

The weight of everything crashed down on Moss.

He sank to his knees, his touch desperately seeking warmth in Emilia's chilling hand. He shouted her name, a plea that echoed the hollowness in his own heart.

The futility hung heavy in the air. Everyone present knew the cruel truth-the dead couldn't be brought back, especially not those gone for over two decades.

Just as Bennett steeled himself to remind his uncle of the harsh reality, a chilling laugh, devoid of mirth, erupted from Moss. It sent shivers crawling down everyone's spine.

"I'll bring you back, Emilia," Moss whispered, a manic edge to his voice. "As long as I draw breath, I'll try my best to bring you back. Twenty more years? A thousand experiments? A thousand subjects? It won't deter me."

With a trembling hand, he pressed Emilia's withered skin against his tear-streaked face, a desperate attempt to feel a flicker of life.