Claire Sinclair wanted to ask him if he was being serious, but her phone picked that mont to die from a low battery.
’Whatever. It’s none of my business whether he donates or not.’
...
The first phase of the floodwater diversion was a complete success. The mont the good news broke, the residents of the disaster area were overjoyed. So of them even suggested organizing an evening gala for the military rescuers.
The volunteer teams took it upon themselves to organize the gala.
Claire Sinclair was in charge of news reporting, so she couldn’t help with the gala. She spent her days rushing all over, filming wherever a story broke, and was swamped with work.
It was worth noting that Claire Sinclair’s livestream hadn’t been for nothing.
The day after her stream went live, netizens spontaneously started a charity drive, donating money and supplies. The internet was flooded with positive energy.
That night, a group of fellow journalists arrived from outside the mountains, bringing more professional equipnt. Claire Sinclair was finally no longer fighting a lone battle.
Perhaps because her workload suddenly lightened, by the third day, Claire Sinclair had fallen ill. She was running a high fever that refused to break.
To keep a certain soone from worrying, Claire Sinclair gritted her teeth and pretended nothing was wrong. She insisted on staying at her post, sending firsthand reports back to The Aethelgard Headquarters on schedule every day.
Aside from a few legitimate dia outlets, most of the reporters who had arrived yesterday were strangers. She couldn’t rule out that so were unprofessional strears sent by marketing agencies. She worried that people with ulterior motives would manipulate the narrative, so she only felt comfortable when she wrote the reports herself.
Unfortunately, she had overestimated her own body...
On the fourth day, Claire Sinclair collapsed on site, frightening everyone around her.
When she woke up, she found herself lying in an unfamiliar hospital—in a VIP room, no less.
Henry Hartwell was sitting casually to one side, leaning on his crutches. He was peeling an apple as he spoke. "Sleeping Beauty, you’re finally awake. Any longer and that man of yours was about to start murdering people."
Claire Sinclair felt completely drained. She tried to sit up but couldn’t, so she remained lying down. "Teacher Hartwell, where am I?"
"Brindlemoor Hospital."
"Brindlemoor Hospital..."
’Brindlemoor is a Tier-2 city... It’s so far from Garlan Town. How did I end up here?’
Claire Sinclair asked urgently, "Why am I here?"
Henry Hartwell raised an eyebrow and shot back, "You really have no idea how terrible your health is, do you?"
"I..." Claire Sinclair felt a pang of guilt.
The corner of Henry Hartwell’s mouth curved into a roguish smile. "Don’t even think about it. The doctor said you need complete rest and can’t go back into the mountains. Just focus on getting better and wait for your man to return triumphant."
"But what about my work? I’m worried soone will misreport things."
"Don’t worry. Astoria Television has already sent people. You need to have faith in Astoria’s journalists."
The na "Astoria" alone represented the most authoritative and righteous voice in all of Aridia. Claire Sinclair had no reason not to trust the colleagues sent by Astoria Television.
With that thought, Claire Sinclair relented. Her gaze drifted to Henry Hartwell’s broken leg. "Teacher Hartwell, your leg hasn’t healed yet?"
"It’s almost there. I can get the cast off in a few days."
"That’s good." Claire Sinclair breathed a sigh of relief, her eyes slowly traveling to his face.
’He finally shaved. Now he actually looks like a normal person.’
"Claire Sinclair, what were you thinking?"
"What do you an, ’what was I thinking’?"
"You’re in such poor health. Why did you insist on going to a place like that to suffer?"
"Other people go there to do good work. How is it that when I go, it’s considered ’suffering’?"
Claire Sinclair felt as if the question was aid directly at her.
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