?Chapter 368:


    “Heading out?” she asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.


    Quentin offered an easy smile. “Yes. Goodbye, Miss Harris.”


    “Goodbye.”


    As he walked past her, Linda’s gaze lingered for a beat before she turned away, a frown forming between her brows. Why did Quentin keeping here? What business did he have with Ernest—especially now?


    In his current state, Ernest wasn’t in any condition to give orders. And yet, Quentin kept returning to report to him.


    Had Ernest tasked him with something before falling unconscious?


    Her mind whirled with questions as she ascended the stairs. Upon reaching Ernest’s room, she didn’t bother knocking. She pushed the door open.


    “Ernest?”


    The moment she stepped inside, a sharp, acrid scent filled her nose.


    Burning.


    “Ernest, what are you—”


    She barely finished the sentence before her gazended on him, seated near an ashtray, his hands moving in a rush.


    Something smoldered between his fingers—a small, card-like object curling at the edges as mes consumed it.


    His grip was unsteady, and in his haste to discard it, the fire licked dangerously close to his skin.


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    “Careful!”


    Linda darted forward, instinctively grabbing his wrist before he could burn himself.


    “Are you alright, Ernest? Did you get burned?”


    Ernest stiffened under her touch, but then shook his head, brushing off her concern.


    But his eyes flickered back to the ashtray. The card—whatever it had been—was now nothing but charred remains. His tense shoulders rxed, his features smoothing out.


    Linda didn’t react, keeping her expressionposed, as if she had seen nothing unusual.


    “I managed to get back earlier today,” she said smoothly. “How about a walk in the garden?”


    Ernest met her gaze and gave a small nod.


    Though he still relied on a wheelchair, his condition had improved enough that he could stand with assistance.


    Taking a few steps was no longer an impossible task—and he weed the challenge. “Let’s go.”


    Without hesitation, Linda stepped behind him, pushing the wheelchair toward the garden.


    Later, under the glow of the evening lights, Ernest practiced standing with his walker, his movements steady but cautious.


    Nearby, a servant approached Linda, keeping their voice low. “Miss Harris, the trash has been cleared.”


    Linda barely shifted, her gaze still on Ernest as she responded, “Anything unusual?”


    The servant hesitated for a fraction of a second before extending something toward her. “Please have a look at this.”


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