Page 76 of Rescuing Mia
His toes playing with mine.
The cabin walls close in around us, a cocoon of whispered secrets and still-warm sheets. Rigel’s chest rises and falls with a steady rhythm against my side. His fingers trace idle patterns on my arm, sparking trails of warmth that contrast with the cool post-coital air.
“Rigel,” I start, my heart thudding a frantic beat against my ribcage. “There’s something I need to tell you.” The words hang between us like a tightrope, waiting for me to step out into the unknown.
“Anything, Mia.” He shifts, his smoldering gaze fixing on mine.There’s steel in his voice, a determination that steadies me, even as my hands tremble and my pulse races.
“I did something.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the confession heavy on my tongue.
His body tenses, an alertness snapping into his posture. His eyebrows knit together in concern, but his touch remains gentle and encouraging, a silent promise of support.
“Tell me.” His voice is a soft command, an invitation to unburden me of the secrets that weigh me down.
I take a deep breath, the story tumbling from my lips in a rush of fear and desperation.
“I’m not safe.”
“What does that mean?” Instantly alert, there’s a sudden change in Rigel.
Gone is the easygoing, carefree man I’ve come to know. In his place stands a warrior, fierce and focused, ready to face any threat. For the first time, I catch a glimpse of the Navy SEAL he once was, the steely determination and unwavering resolve that must have served him well in countless battles.
“I’m in trouble.” My voice is a mere wisp of sound. Each word feels heavier than the last, laden with fear.
“Tell me.” He turns to me, his expression shifting to one of intense focus.
“It’s—it’s my job. Or it was.” I bite my lip, the floodgates of my anxiety threatening to burst open. “I work for—worked for—Red Phoenix Pharmaceuticals in Shanghai.”
Rigel’s hand pauses in its movements, his expression unreadable for a moment. “Go on,” he prompts, his gaze never leaving mine.
“They were doing something—illegal.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, the horror of my discovery still fresh in my mind.
“What do you mean, you worked for them? As in past tense?” Rigel’s brow furrows, his concern deepening.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, I struggle to find the words to explain the complexities of my work and the dangerous potential misuse of heavy water.
“I’m a biochemical engineer. My team… We were exploring the potential uses of deuterium in medical therapies—cancer treatments.”
“Deuterium? As in heavy water?” Rigel’s eyes widen, his grip on my hand tightening. “I thought that was more—nuclear?”
“Yes.” I nod, my heart hammering in my chest. “Heavy water plays a critical role in both medical research and, unfortunately, nuclear weapon design.”
He squeezes my hand, a silent but grounding reassurance. “What kind of work were you doing with heavy water?” He leans in, his attention sharp, his body coiled with concern, anticipation, and instant alertness.
“It’s used in nuclear weapons for initiators and boosted fission weapons. A heavy hydrogen isotope absorbs fewer neutrons than regular hydrogen. This property is crucial for nuclear fission reactions.” My hands move, sketching the invisible atoms between them as if the physical representation can somehow make the truth less terrifying. “During fission, uranium atoms split apart, releasing neutrons that can trigger more splits in nearby atoms. Deuterium atoms, however, slow down these neutrons without capturing them, making them more likely to cause additional fissions. It’s like—ensuring a chain reaction, which is essential for the explosive power of nuclear weapons.” The words pour out of me, the technical jargon a flimsy shield against the growing sense of dread that threatens to consume me.
“I meant the medical side?” Rigel frowns, the gravity of the situation dawning on him.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay. Tell me about your research.”
“Completely different and so full of hope.” My voice brightens despite the heaviness of the topic. “Heavy water is used as a contrast agent in medical research. It offers a non-invasive, universally applicable, and cost-effective method to monitor metabolic activity. It’s incredible, really. With stable isotope labeling, deuterium intake becomes a marker for bacterial metabolism, helping us rapidly detect drug sensitivity and even identify fast-growing tumor cells through their increased deuterium uptake.”
Rigel nods. His expression alternates between fascination and concern. I can see the wheels turning in his mind, the puzzle pieces falling into place.
“Using heavy water with microscopy, we can distinguish the boundaries of a tumor by its higher metabolic activity. It’s a promising avenue for precision medicine, offering insights into cellular development, tissue homeostasis, and even the effectiveness of drug therapies through monitoring extracellular vesicles. I’m a biochemical engineer, and that’s some of what I was working on.
The words flow from my lips, a desperate attempt to cling to the hope and promise of my work, even as the dark reality of Red Phoenix’s intentions threatens to shatter it.