The third point of view
Eden barged into Adam's office, a violent look on his face. The veins on his neck were bulging, one didn't need to ask if he was angry or not.
With one clean sweep, almost the items on Adam's desk were swept to the ground while the man in question was unfazed by his action.
"What's the meaning of this?" Adam asked him, dropping the cigarette into the ashtray that survived the fall.
"Her treatment is late," Eden spat, smoke literally dissipating off his body.
"It isn't late, I was waiting for you to come and collect it yourself,"
"What?" Eden was dumbfounded.
"You heard me right, Eden. From now on, if you want the antidote, you'd have to come and pick it yourself," Adam said to him without a trace of emotion.
