Chapter 373
The medical advisor nodded and gave a subtle signal to Deandre’s men. Then he told Lochlan, “Sir, just now, there was no pulse… no breath… Everyone thought you were gone. Your son believed it was a trap by ‘Healing Hand’ and Deandre. He locked her in the bedroom. We’ll go get her.”
But as the medical advisor left, he bumped into Deandre coming from Rylie’s room.
Deandre’s face was grim. “‘Healing Hand’ isn’t there. The window’s wide open.”
The medical advisor paused, his eyes narrowing. “She’s so small. That’s the third floor… did she jump?”
“Rylie’s got serious talent,” said Deandre.
He stepped up to Lochlan’s bedside and studied his face. Even in his weakened state, the old man held onto a spark. Deandre frowned. “Can someone tell me what’s really happening here?”
“It all traces back to the ‘Healing Hand,’” came the response. The medical advisor finally laid things bare. “Neither Lochlan nor I knew what she had planned in the end. But we still agreed to follow through with it. That was our mistake.” He paused. “No one expected Ableson to die. But she left this.” While speaking, he reached for his phone and tapped through until a folder from Rylie appeared.
A recording began to play. Ableson’s voice filled the room as he talked about working with the ‘Healing Hand.’ He also required a “careless mistake” in the surgery that could lead to Lochlan’s death.
Across the room, Deandre and Lochlan kept serious expressions. Their thoughts, though, were far from aligned.
Deandre’s mind raced. The female voice in the recording had a strange ring to it — hauntingly familiar. It reminded him of his sister’s. But she was supposed to be in Kretol, enjoying a quiet break, far from all this chaos.
Still, he was aware that Rylie had always been gifted with a scalpel. He remembered how she once operated on Felix without blinking. Now, her expertise was linked too cleanly to what the ‘Healing Hand’ had done. The dead sniper. The dead rider. Ableson. It all pointed to her. If she really was behind that mask, things were finally falling into place. And yet, he asked himself — could that truly be her?
Lochlan sat quietly. The news about his son’s betrayal had just landed, and the air around them grew heavier.
His hand dropped to his side. Eyes hard, yet dry. No grief, just disgust. His voice came out rough. “I gave that boy every chance…” He swallowed. “Turns out ‘Healing Hand’ didn’t need answers. She only asked questions she already knew the answers to.”
Deandre leaned forward. “What did she say to you?”
“She wanted to know if I’d kill him,” Lochlan replied.
Then he turned to Deandre. “We’ve got our killer.”
The truth was bitter. The ‘Healing Hand’ had cut through their tangled loyalties, taken out Ableson, and forced Lochlan’s hand. A voice from the neutral faction chimed in, “Even so, she had no right to interfere.”
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