The incense was crucial. It was the very thing that was holding off James‘ injuries from worsening, and Mirabe had snuffed it out without a second thought.


    Curtis‘ eyes zed with fury, his already intimidating visage now terrifying in his anger. He strode over, snatched the half–burned incense stick from Mirabe’s grasp, and fished out a lighter, on the verge of reigniting it.


    Mirabe was unshaken by his fearsome appearance, smirking ever so slightly. “If you want him dead sooner, by all means, light it up again.” Her voice was soft, almost airy, but carried an undercurrent of sharpness that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.


    Curtis‘ hand paused. He knew he shouldn’t let the uninformed words of Mirabe sway him, but his finger lingered on the lighter, unable to press down.


    Niki overheard the exchange, instinctively nced at Mirabe, and inquired, “Why can’t we light the incense?”


    Mirabe took a seat beside James, simply stating, “Your hand.”


    James turned, noting that although Mirabe’s expression was as usual, the intensity he saw in her eyes was something he had never witnessed before, a maturity that didn’t match her


    years.


    He extended his hand. Her fingertips rested lightly on his wrist, and as she took his pulse, a veil of solemnity descended over her delicate features. Momentster, she withdrew her hand.


    Her gaze fell on James‘ previously injured leg, then she leaned over, lifting his pant leg for a quick inspection before letting it fall back into ce.


    “Paper. Pen,” Mirabemanded sinctly.


    Wyatt, hearing her request, reflexively searched for the items. He returned shortly, handing them to Mirabe with a reverence greater than before. He no longer pondered the origins of her knowledge in scent–crafting or her physician friend. From the pulse–taking action, it was clear she had some medical expertise.


    Mirabe quickly drafted a list of ingredients on the paper. Once finished, she handed it to Wyatt, “I need these herbs.”


    Pausing, she added, “However, some of them might be hard to find.


    Holding the prescription, Wyatt was resolute, “No matter how hard, I’ll find them.” At that moment, he had put all his hopes on Mirabe.


    After a thought, she noted, “Well, there’s no rush. Just have them ready within three days.”


    Wyatt, hearing her nonchnce, stole a worried nce at James. His condition seemed anything but non–urgent. Though perplexed, Wyatt dared not question further. “I’ll start preparing now,” he said.


    As he moved to leave, Curtis grabbed his arm, halting him. Wyatt looked at him, confused by his


    intentions.


    Curtis nced at Mirabe, then at the list of herbs in Wyatt’s hand. His gaze settled on Wyatt’s face, his voice deep and serious. “James condition is no joke.”


    Ms. Mirabe appeared capable of medicine, quickly took a pulse, and drafted a prescription. but when even Niki was reluctant to administer treatment easily, how could her casual demeanor inspire trust in her healing abilities?


    Could Wyatt really believe that a girl barely out of her teens possessed remarkable medical skills? Skills that could surpass those of Niki, heir to a century–old legacy of alternative medicine, hailed as a national healer?


    Wyatt met Curtis‘ gaze, fully understanding his concerns, yet he breathed deeply and firmly stated, “I trust Ms. Mirabe.”


    Curtis frowned. “You…”