"Alright, Sinclair, you're all sweaty from playing. Go take a shower; I've prepared a sumptuous dinner."

Sheila clapped her hands, receiving the small bag from Sinclair's hand with a look of disgust.

These plaster crafts were rough, their surfaces shedding powder; all cheap stuff.

Sinclair took a few steps, then, as if remembering something, turned back. "I don't want to take a shower. I want to lie in bed and eat. Also, Sheila, I hope you can call me 'Little Sinclair' from now on. I love you!"

"You have to take a shower even if you love me!" Sheila pinched Sinclair's cheek. "Little Sinclair, go take a shower now. Mommy loves you too."

Dean interrupted the cooing pair.

He stood in front of Sinclair, grabbed her collar, and carried her like a little chicken towards the living room, saying to Thompson, who was watching the scene unfold from the couch, "Get some cold water, and plenty of it. Something is not right with Sinclair."

"Not right?"

Although Thompson was puzzled, he trusted Dean, so he didn't hesitate and immediately ran towards the kitchen.

Being carried, Sinclair showed displeasure, kicking and thrashing at Dean, wailing, "Stinking Dean, what are you trying to do? Mom, save me! Dean has gone mad; he's bullying me!"

Sheila quickly supported Sinclair, who was struggling mid-air, and looked at Dean speechlessly. "Dean, let go now. Sinclair is scared; this isn't fun!"

She still thought Dean was playing with Sinclair. This guy had always been a problem student and often played pranks on Thompson and Sinclair. The only ones he feared were her and Beck. Unexpectedly, after maturing for a while, he was reverting to childish behavior today.

Dean simply scooped up his mother as well, tossing her onto the couch with Sinclair. Then he held Sinclair down, pulled her eyelids open, and said to Sheila, who was struggling to get up, "Mom, this is no joke. Take a good look at Sinclair's eyes."

Inside Sinclair's large eye sockets, her pupils spun erratically like hula hoops, clearly without focus.

This meant that Sinclair, despite seeming to speak normally, was now somewhat like a drunk. Her core consciousness was unclear and muddled.

"This is a clear drug reaction, and it hasn't been long since the onset," Dean said. "Otherwise, Sinclair, having never been exposed before, would probably be feeling very uncomfortable by now."

Scarcely had he finished speaking—

RETCH.

Sinclair suddenly gagged, then dry-heaved.

Dean, quick of hand and sharp of eye, swiftly turned her over.

The next moment, some acidic fluid spilled from Sinclair's mouth.

Her face lost its previous tipsy flush, replaced by an expression of discomfort. Tears welled uncontrollably from her eyes, much like someone vomiting from drunkenness or experiencing withdrawal.

This was Sinclair's body's first resistance to the drugs she had inhaled.

This process would last two to three days.

If she got through it, there would likely be little lasting effect. However, if the anomaly wasn't detected and she continued to come into contact with those intoxicating substances, it would be disastrous.

Seeing this, Sheila realized the gravity of the matter.

Her chest heaved violently, her complexion visibly darkening.

At this time, Thompson arrived with a basin of cold water, thoughtfully bringing a towel as well.

Seeing Sinclair's condition suddenly worsen, worry filled Thompson's eyes. "Why has Sinclair suddenly gotten like this?"

"Never mind that for now. Go get some more drinking water," Dean instructed. "We have to help Sinclair metabolize the drugs in her system as quickly as possible so she can feel a bit better."

Only then did Sheila, holding back her anger, take the towel to wipe Sinclair's cheeks.

This action did not significantly improve Sinclair's condition.

The typically strong woman couldn't help but voice her concern, "Dean, should I call the doctor from the Farmers' Association? We have a cooperative agreement with him; he should be able to keep it confidential!"

Dean shook his head.

"No. We can't call a doctor, and we can't call the police. Otherwise, Sinclair will have this on her record, which would be a stain on her future."

Sinclair was only eleven years old.

She has so many choices ahead of her. It's unnecessary to tarnish her record with a history of drug exposure over a moment of discomfort. In the United States, they might be tolerant of junkies, but that's mostly because people enjoy the drama of a prodigal's return. For ordinary people, a record of jail time, gambling, or drugs is never good. Others won't care about the reasons; their first impression will be negative.

After hearing Dean's explanation, Sheila finally understood.

She was still hesitant. A minor, harmless record was one thing, but she was far more concerned about Sinclair recovering quickly and not suffering so much.

"Don't worry," Dean said. "These symptoms aren't severe, and they won't last long."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive!"

Seeing the certainty in Dean's tone, Sheila could only restrain her worries. She constantly wiped Sinclair's neck and cheeks with the towel, trying her best to ease her rapid breathing and make her more comfortable.

After reassuring his mother, Dean nodded to Thompson, signaling him to give Sinclair some water.

Judging by Sinclair's reaction, she had likely inhaled some kind of chemical drug. Most first-time users experience an accelerated heartbeat and become emotionally agitated and excited. This is followed by dizziness and sweating all over, entering a clearly negative state. This process usually lasts an hour or two.

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