Time bled fast, which Caelen was thankful for.
The moment Arman returned with paramedics, Midas stepped forward, his calm smile curving like a blade sheathed in silk.
With one hand raised, he cut through the frenzy of reporters as easily as parting water.
"Hunter Caelen is exhausted," Midas announced, smooth and practiced. "The priority now is stabilizing him—and the unconscious hunter, Elione Noa Ahn."
The crowd shifted, unsettled but silenced. Guards pushed the press back, paramedics surged in with gurneys, and Lion's Fang's elite clustered close, their worried faces forming a wall around Caelen.
But even as the medics moved in, Caelen felt it. Midas' eyes. Cold. Focused. Never leaving him—not once.
Not even when he ordered, voice casual but commanding:
"Hunter Caelen, take the unconscious one with the medics. Your team will accompany you. Zacharias—stay."
The words sealed like chains.
And so, Caelen found himself inside the ambulance.
