Chapter 155: The Aftermath

Sienna

“Why are you looking at me like you pity me and want to put a bullet in my head at the same time?”

Those were the first words out of Lando’s mouth the second he tried to push himself upright on the narrow mattress.

I moved instantly, stepping up to the frame and placing a firm hand on his uninjured shoulder to pin him down. “Don’t you dare move, rogue, unless you’re eager to see what the afterlife looks like again.”

“Again?” He raised his arms slowly, turning his forearms in the dim light to stare at the thick tissue forming over his burns. “Oh, wow. Being tucked away in a rich pack sure has its perks.”

“We worked for two straight days to keep you breathing,” I said, keeping my tone flat as I reached for a fresh roll of sterile gauze.

“And I’m still alive. Imagine that,” he muttered with a mocking tilt to his mouth.

I didn't bother arguing with him. I bent over the side of the bed and quietly began peeling back the older dressings on his other arm, making sure not to tug on the healing skin.

“They survived, by the way.”

From my peripheral vision, I saw his head snap toward me. I kept my focus entirely on my hands. Watching him walk out of that burning building with a mother and her child had forced me to view him differently, and some small part of me knew I had to be the one to treat him—just like he had stepped up for Sebastian’s people. But that didn't mean I liked the guy.

Lando didn't say anything, nor did he acknowledge what I’d said.

I stepped back, setting the soiled wraps onto the metal tray. “I said the mother and her son are alive.”

He leaned his head back against the pillow, raising an eyebrow. “I heard you the first time, princess.”

“Shouldn’t you at least act like you care?”

“My body is aching way too much to shout hooray.”

I rolled my eyes. The man was practically on the brink of death an hour ago and he was already back to being impossibly stubborn.

“Your skin will return to its normal texture eventually,” I told him, clearing the used ointment jars. “It will take time for your hair to grow back, though, since the tissue beneath has to repair itself first.”

“You think after surviving an actual fire, I’m sitting here worrying about being bald?”

I clenched my jaw tight. I really couldn't stand him.

“You...”

He stayed quiet, waiting for me to finish.

“...should not scratch your skin no matter how much it itches. And you are strictly confined to this room.”

“Understood, ma'am.” He pulled the thin blanket off his lap and swung his legs over the side, staring down at his feet.

“Do you think Sebastian would still collar you with a tracking device?” I asked, watching his reaction. “He is not devoid of compassion.”

Lando let out a low chuckle, a familiar smirk touching his lips. “I’m starting to like the man. Careful, or I might just steal him from you.”

I gave him a forced, empty smile. “Rest for now. Sebastian will surely wish to speak with you soon.”

I turned on my heel, heading straight for the exit.

“Wait.”

I paused at the door frame, looking back over my shoulder.

This time, he couldn't meet my eyes. He stared down at his bandaged hands, his posture dropping its usual defensive edge. “Thank you. For keeping me alive.”

I was taken aback by the sudden shift, but I kept my face carefully neutral. “That is simply my duty as a healer.”

I walked out into the corridor before he could say another word, grateful for the escape. The man exhausted every ounce of my patience.

Cole was sitting at the front desk, staring blankly at a pile of patient files under the harsh desk lamp.

“Cole, I’m heading home for a bit,” I said softly.

He gave me a weary nod. Out of everyone at the clinic, he was the most spent. He had barely sat down since the explosion tore through the commercial district two days ago.

Tristan’s patrols had already rounded up the rogues involved in the attack, but Ophelia herself had vanished without leaving a single trace behind. The rebels who had backed her were captured, but they wouldn't see the light of day again.

Sebastian wasn't cruel enough to execute them, but they were locked deep in the underground holding cells beneath Regalia—a facility that had remained empty for years until now.

As for the rogues who had no hand in the revolt, they were permitted to remain in the territory. Still, I knew the pack wouldn't treat them kindly anytime soon. Three of our wounded had passed away in the ward, leaving twelve others recovering from terrible injuries. The lingering grief over those losses made every interaction tense.

When I stepped into the estate, Jordan was standing near the main staircase.

“Hello, Jordan. Where is Sebastian?”

“In his study, as expected.”

I nodded and walked down the long, carpeted hall towards the oak door. Inside, Sebastian was sitting at his desk, his elbows resting on the wood and his face buried in his hands. He had been tearing himself apart for two days straight over Ophelia’s escape.

I walked over quietly and placed my hand gently against his back.

He sat up straight instantly, his arms reaching out to wrap tightly around my waist. He pulled me close, burying his face against my stomach as he let out a slow, heavy breath.

“It is all right, Sebastian,” I murmured, running my fingers through his dark hair.

He was furious with himself, convinced that those three deaths were the direct result of his own choices. He was calling himself weak for opening the gates to the rogues in the first place, but nobody blamed him. Offering shelter wasn't a weakness—it took far more courage to choose mercy.

He pulled back slightly, looking up at me with tired, shadowed eyes. “Are you exhausted? I must settle a few remaining matters before I can allow myself to rest.”

I nodded. “Then I will retire to my room first. Please, do not push yourself. We will find her.”

He gave me a single, quiet nod and turned back to the documents on his desk.

I opened the study door, pausing to take one last look at him before making my way down the hall to my old bedroom.

The moment I reached the bed, I let myself fall face-down onto the mattress, desperate to close my eyes. But before my head could even hit the pillow, a hard, heavy thud echoed from the balcony terrace.

I sat up instantly and walked toward the open glass doors.

Lying on the stone floor was a crumpled piece of paper, wrapped around a heavy rock. I picked it up, unrolling the wrinkled parchment to read the words scribbled across the center.

Meet me at Michael’s grave. Alone.

My chest tightened as I stared at the dark ink. I didn't need a signature to know who sent it.

Ophelia.