We didn't wait to finish the tea.

The silence in Yujin’s apartment had turned from heavy to suffocating the moment we realized who was lying in that ICU bed. I practically dragged the group out the door, the wooden stairs creaking under our frantic retreat. Yujin stood in the doorway, his one hand clutching the frame as he watched us go, a look of hollow confusion on his face. He didn't know the storm we were heading into.

Roonie’s sedan was idling at the curb, a dark silhouette against the dim streetlights of the residential district. We piled in, the doors slamming shut with a series of sharp, mechanical thuds.

"The Association Medical Wing. Fast," I said, leaning back into the seat as the engine roared to life.

Roonie didn't argue. He hit the accelerator, the tires screaming against the asphalt. We were an hour away from the city center, an hour where the only thing keeping me sane was the cold, steady thrum of the bond at my chest.

"Shouldn't we call ahead?" Roonie asked, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror. "I can get a priority clearance. We can have a security detail moved to his floor before we even arrive."

"No," I said, my voice sharp. "No calls. No records."

Seraphina looked at me from the corner of her eye, her white hair shadowed in the dim light of the cabin. "Elara? He’s in a secure facility. Why are you so worried?"

I looked out the window at the blurred lights of the suburbs. "Think about it, Seraphina. A hunter who worked in the dark for three years. A man who was Arslan’s right hand. If he’s in that medical wing, he’s a liability to every person involved in those illegal gates."

I gripped the strap of my bag, my knuckles turning white.

"The danger isn't from the Association as a whole. It’s from the people inside it. The ones who are supposed to be 'taking care' of him. There’s a reason Gloria created the Ice Team off the books. She doesn't trust her own organization. Why should we?"

A heavy silence settled in the car. Hana was staring out the other window, her hand resting on the hilt of a knife she’d tucked into her belt. She didn't need to say a word. Her silence was a jagged, angry thing.

"There are traitors," I continued, my strategist brain laying out the board. "Or people being paid to look the other way. If we call ahead, we’re just telling whoever wants him dead exactly where we are. We enter as regular guild visitors. We keep it quiet until we’re in the room."

Roonie’s jaw set. He didn't ask another question. He just pushed the car harder, weaving through the late-night traffic with a clinical, focused aggression.

The Association Medical Wing was a towering monolith of glass and white concrete. It looked like a temple of healing, but to me, it felt like a cage. We pulled into the visitor parking, moving through the lobby with a practiced, casual air that felt entirely fake. My heart was a frantic drum, a low-frequency hum of anxiety that made the air feel thin.

We reached the front desk. Roonie flashed his guild ID, his voice steady and bored as he requested a visit for a 'friend' found in the shipyard. The receptionist didn't even look up from her screen. She gave us a badge and pointed toward the high-security ICU on the fourth floor.

The elevator ride felt like it took a century. The numbers on the display flickered by, each chime of the bell a hammer blow against my nerves.

When the doors finally slid open, the air changed. It was sterile, cold, and smelled of antiseptic and the faint, sweet scent of mana-filters. We moved down the hallway, our footsteps muffled by the thick, hospital-grade carpet.

ICU-4.

I pushed the door open, my hand already reaching for a weaponized shard in my pocket.

The room was quiet.

The only sound was the rhythmic, mechanical hiss of a ventilator and the steady, electronic beep of a heart monitor. Francis was lying in the center of the room, a tangle of tubes and wires connecting him to the machines.

I let out a long, shaky breath. He was still there. We weren't too late.

But as I stepped closer, the breath caught in my throat.

He was completely battered. His skin was a mottled map of purple and yellow bruises, his face swollen almost beyond recognition. One of his legs was in a heavy cast, and his chest was wrapped in thick, white bandages that were already stained with the yellow of healing mana-salve.

"He looks like he was put through a rock crusher," Hana whispered, her voice a jagged rasp. She moved to the side of the bed, her fingers ghosting over his hand.

I looked at the medical chart hanging at the foot of the bed. I scanned the dates, the times, the locations.

"The shipyard," I muttered. "He was found thrown in an alleyway three nights ago. The same night the corrupted hunter turned into a gate at the intersection."

The coincidence wasn't just a pattern. It was a signature.

"His injuries are from a dungeon," I said, pointing at the jagged, uneven scars on his shoulder. "Specifically, the kind of damage you see from high-pressure mana collapses. But he was found on the street. They dumped him."

I looked at his face, trying to find the man Yujin had described. The man who wore suits and wanted to buy his friend a new arm. Now, he was just a broken shell, a victim of the same greed he’d tried to use as a ladder.

Seraphina stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the door. "He’s stable. But the coma is deep. The doctors say it’s mana exhaustion combined with physical trauma."

I turned to look at the group. The blue light from the monitors reflected in my eyes, making the room feel like the inside of a gate.

"He’s the only one who can tell us who Arslan really is," I said. "He knows whatever is happening works. He definitely knows something about why hunters are turning into these new gates."

I looked back at the man on the bed, his chest rising and falling in a shallow, artificial rhythm.

"We need him awake," I said, my voice hardening into a tactical command. "And we need him safe. Because the second he opens those eyes, the shipyard is going to come for him."

I gripped the rail of the bed, my mind already building a cage around this room.

"And I don't intend to let them take him."