Fortunately, fate favored her.
"I have more than thirty people in Virginia!" Leah gently pulled back the rifle bolt, threatening the sister she had never met word by word. "If I find out you lied to me…"
"I would never lie to you! You're the only family Mom left me!" Calista said firmly.
The satellite signal on the other end suddenly began fluctuating violently.
Through the channel, she caught the faint sound of a medical alarm mixed with chaotic voices.
"Leah, is the target dead? Who are you talking to?"
A burst of crackling static followed, drowning out the voices until nothing could be heard.
Calista spoke up anxiously.
"Leah, I'll be discharged the day after tomorrow. Mom's funeral is scheduled for Saturday afternoon!"
When Leah spoke again, the surrounding voices were gone.
"Saturday, 12 p.m. Charlotte Douglas International, Terminal F."
Listening to the automated disconnection tone, Calista let out a long breath, her tense body finally relaxing.
Done!
In a good mood, Calista tapped open her iPad again and carefully reread the news article.
According to Afghan authorities, an entire Taliban patrol in Kandahar had been attacked by "rabies patients" last week, and several of the infected had been shot dead on the spot.
Western media harshly condemned what they called an inhumane act by terrorists, arguing the patients should have been restrained and provided with medical treatment.
Calista blinked and gave a mocking smile at the Western mainstream media's usual habit of lecturing from a safe distance.
It seemed that scattered cases had already begun appearing in certain places at this point in time.
However, the report used the word "attack," not "bite." Either the authorities were hiding something, or they simply didn't think it was serious.
By the time people realized these weren't ordinary "rabies patients," the virus would already be impossible to stop.
By then, the government wouldn't be conducting rescue operations.
They would be bombing major cities—along with countless surviving civilians inside them.
Even so, the world would still fall into an apocalyptic hell.
Saturday afternoon.
Lynnhurst Cemetery.
A black hearse rolled slowly over a driveway covered in rose petals and stopped in front of the church at the center of the cemetery. Several attendants wearing white gloves arranged flowers into elegant displays.
A crystal coffin rested in the middle of the church.
Margaret lay quietly inside, dressed in burial clothes. The horrific damage from the car accident had already been repaired; now she looked as if she were merely asleep.
Calista stood beside the crystal coffin, greeting the guests who came to attend the funeral one by one.
Afraid she might not be able to cry, she had deliberately pressed a cold spoon against her eyes that morning and smudged her mascara slightly to create the appearance of tearful makeup.
Looking at Margaret in the coffin, Calista recalled the moment she had shielded her daughter during the crash. Then she thought of her parents in another world.
For a moment, genuine sadness welled up in her chest. Her eyes reddened slightly, making her look fragile and pitiful.
"My condolences, Miss Norton."
The smell of cigars drifted closer. Another guest—she had already lost count of how many—stepped forward to hug her briefly before turning to chat with the surrounding crowd.
Calista choked out softly,
"Mom would have been very happy that you came."
Her sorrowful gaze swept across the entire room. A tear hung delicately from her eyelashes, making her look heartbroken.
Inside, however, she was silently sneering.
Margaret had no family.
One ex-husband had died long ago. The other—Calista's biological father—had given the mother and daughter considerable property and money as compensation during the divorce. In the past few years, he had completely cut off contact.
He lived in Europe now. When he received his daughter's call, he offered only a few meaningless words of comfort—and didn't even attend the funeral.
No one cared about her, an underage girl who had just lost her mother.
Only a few of Margaret's close friends showed genuine grief and comforted her sincerely.
Everyone else treated this as a social gathering.
Earlier, several people had even "coincidentally" brought along sons around her age to console her. The way those men looked at her felt like X-rays scanning her body.
A young, beautiful, wealthy heiress who had just lost her mother—fragile, vulnerable, ignored by her own father, with no relatives to support her.
What a tempting little dessert.
People don't waste time moving on.
Calista sighed softly. The corner of her eye drifted toward the guest registry. The name she was waiting for most still remained under "Unconfirmed."
She didn't even know whether the person sent to pick Leah up at the airport had managed to meet her.
The funeral began.
"May the Lord grant eternal rest…"
As the pastor read the eulogy, Calista pressed her left hand to her chest while holding a handkerchief under her eyes with her right, her heart full of unease.
Was Leah really not coming?
What would she do then?
Suddenly, a rumbling roar of engines sounded from outside.
Everyone turned their heads, curious which guest had arrived with such ostentation.
Calista carefully peeked through a narrow gap in the church's stained-glass window.
Five modified Humvees rolled mercilessly over the rose petals scattered across the ground. The thunderous diesel engines startled a flock of birds in the cemetery into flight.
She's here!
Calista's eyes lit up instantly, her spirits lifting.
As the church doors were pushed open, the distinctive thud of military boots echoed inside.
Soft murmurs rose from the rows of seats behind her. The guests present—men and women from the same social circle as Calista and her mother—had no idea why a group of mercenaries, who looked completely out of place, had come here.
Thirty-two mercenaries looked like a pack of wolves that had wandered into a jewelry store.
Most of the bootsteps stopped near the back of the church. Only one person walked calmly toward the front.
When the sound of Leah's boots approached from behind, Calista seized the moment and deliberately staggered half a step, "accidentally" dropping the prayer book in her hand at the other woman's feet.
From other people's perspective, it simply looked like her legs had gone weak from standing too long.
A slightly rough hand picked up the book and handed it back to her.
"Thank you…"
Calista lifted her face. Pale golden curls fell softly around it. Her gray-blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and her pale lips were bitten until they flushed pink.
While inwardly despising her own affected performance, she continued to deliberately create the image of fragile vulnerability.
Their eyes met.
Just as the information had described, the tall, powerfully built woman in front of her had healthy-toned skin and a straight back. A faint vertical crease rested between her brows, and her slightly thick lips were pressed tightly together. Her deep gray eyes carried a probing gaze.
At that moment, sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting a small shadow across their two similar pale-blonde heads.
A quiet gasp rippled through the guests.
Calista met Leah's examining gaze directly and revealed the first truly sincere smile since the memorial began.
"Sister!"
The original owner of this body had been exactly like the stereotypical flirtatious school beauty from American dramas—very skilled at using her own beauty.
She knew she was extremely pretty.
And even prettier when she smiled.
She had even practiced the curve of her smile and the angle of her profile in front of the mirror.
Although Calista herself wasn't very good at it, the body's muscle memory was still there.
This should be enough to charm you, right?
Leah's eyes flickered.
The scrutiny faded from her gaze.
She didn't answer, but gave a slight nod.