If anyone dared to make a move, the other factions would never allow it.
Everyone knew that whoever saved Professor Lawrence now would gain the upper hand.
Naturally, no one was willing to cede that advantage to anyone else.
They were all on guard against one another.
Professor Lawrence was lying on the ground. He'd been shot in the shoulder and thigh. A pool of blood had already formed beneath him, and his face was pale.
A woman in her forties was at Professor Lawrence's side, propping him up.
Ignoring everyone else, the woman took tools from her backpack and began treating the professor's wounds.
The others couldn't be trusted; she had no intention of relying on them.
These people had all spoken with such earnest sincerity, making all sorts of promises if the professor would just agree to join them.
But now that disaster had struck, not a single one of them was proving reliable.
They were all using the professor's life as a bargaining chip.
