The battle for my clinic lasted forty-seven minutes.
I didn’t fight with claws or fangs. I fought with precision.
My security teams moved like extensions of my scalpel — clean, ruthless, and unforgiving. By the time the last of Duke Varran’s mercenaries were either dead or kneeling in my courtyard with guns to their heads, the sun had fully risen, painting the marble floors of the Black Veil Clinic in shades of gold and crimson.
I walked through the aftermath with blood on the hem of my white coat and ice in my veins.
Marcus met me at the entrance to the secured wing. “We lost three men. They lost twenty-seven. Two prisoners are being interrogated now. They confirmed the boy was the primary target.”
I nodded once. “Good. Double the guard on the residence wing. No one breathes near my
