Blood gushed as his organs threatened to give out. Mary winced. "Gods, Logan, you—" She cut herself off with a glare, sighing. "When will you stop being a problem?"
Logan just shrugged with a grin. Mary clenched her jaw, forcing her fury down as she placed her hands on Aren's chest.
A warm, green light enveloped them, seeping into his body. The torn flesh knitted together like stitches pulling tight. The process was brutal—pain flooding his nerves, leaving him speechless.
For an hour, the healing light worked until his body resembled its former state. By then, Mary was nearly collapsing from exhaustion.
She pulled a small vial of violet liquid from her pocket. Aren felt cold fingers on his cheek as she gripped his jaw, forcing his lips open, and poured the liquid down his throat.
"This potion will help your recovery," she said flatly, clamping his mouth shut until he swallowed. He coughed, choking on the taste. Mary tapped his cheek twice and let go.
"If you're done watching, notify the Avalon Wardens to clean this place up. Make sure he doesn't escape—or harm anyone else."
"Yes, Captain!" Soldiers scrambled to obey.
Aren, fading fast, watched them through a haze. Too weak to resist, he felt himself hoisted over a soldier's shoulder. His last bit of consciousness slipped away as Night Owl carried him out.
The storm outside raged harder. Ambulances loaded the injured, and the Avalon Wardens were to collect the dead. Aegis climbed into their black van and departed. They finished their work here.
"What do you think they'll do to him?" Sid, the youngest recruit, asked. All eyes turned to the unconscious boy tied to the seat.
"After trial, they'll send him to IMFA," Logan said, leaning back casually, fingers combing through his hair. Several soldiers nodded in agreement.
"He's too young for that, isn't he?" Sid pressed. Logan laughed.
"Young? This brat slaughtered everyone in that mansion. He nearly wiped out the Avalon Guardians before we arrived. And you still think he's just some harmless kid?"
His smirk was cruel.
A cold silence filled the van as it disappeared into the rain.
A piercing chill stabbed into his body, dragging Aren back to consciousness. His blood-red eyes flickered open beneath trembling black lashes, staring blankly at the ceiling. He groaned, pushing himself upright. Every muscle screamed as if torn apart.
***
The cell was small, cold, and suffocatingly dim. Aside from the toilet in the corner, there wasn't even a bed.
That woman… She didn't heal me. She stitched my wounds together. Otherwise, no healed wound would hurt this much.
Even though his body showed no scars from the piercing, the pain persisted. Mary's healing forced the flesh together, simulating recovery, but in truth, it accelerated the timeline—leaving him with all the agony of wounds that had yet to heal.
If they wanted, they could've used a proper potion. But after what I did, that option's off the table. At least until the trial is over, they won't let me heal completely.
Footsteps echoed outside, pulling him from his thoughts. A small window at the top of the door slid open with a scrape. Behind the bars stood a young girl. Aren's expression didn't change as he met her gaze.
Her dark green hair matched the color of her eyes. He recognized her instantly. She matched the description of a key figure from the novel he'd read.
Amy Donovan. His sister is two years younger than him.
Of course, it could've been someone else—but who else would visit me in here?
Amy held weight in the novel, not just for her closeness to the protagonist or her strength, but for her tragic past.
Her beloved father—idolized, almost worshipped—had been killed by her brother. The authorities sent her brother to IMFA prison, where he later died. Amy and her mother had returned to the Donovan family estate, one of the great houses.
But because her mother had married outside the elite family bloodlines, Amy's position in the family was low, scorned by relatives. Still, she clawed her way forward, determined to earn her grandfather's acknowledgment and cleanse the shame her brother left behind.
Eventually, she succeeded. Not because of love, but because of her potential. Amy had inherited the same affinity for power as her grandfather. That alone secured her place as his heir.
Aren studied her in silence. The girl, once described as always composed, looked disheveled. She had tangled her hair, as though she had been pulling at it. Her eyes, swollen and red from crying, burned with hatred so intense it was poisonous.
"Why… Why did you do it?" she demanded, her gaze searching his as though for an answer. "When you were isolated in another wing of the manor because of your illness, only Father cared for you."
Amy couldn't understand. She had never gotten along with her brother, but she had never believed he would do such a thing.
Aren's lips curved in a faint, mocking smile.
Illness? That research facility was for a patient? Interesting.