?Chapter 323:


    Elena’s reaction was instinctual; she shifted her focus to the assassin in the tree, her shot echoing Wesley’s with deadly uracy.


    Their near-simultaneous gunfire briefly left them vulnerable, catching the attention of the third assassin.


    Without missing a beat, Elena whirled around, her back pressing against the rough bark of the tree trunk for cover.


    Wesley was in motion too, rolling deftly to take shelter behind another tree across from her. Bullets sliced through the air, narrowly missing him and churning the dirt at his feet.


    His quick reflexes saved him from a grim fate.


    Undeterred, Wesley quickly steadied himself, lifting his gun once more, ready to face the next threat head-on.


    As the assassin cautiously emerged from his hiding spot, Wesley fired with unyielding precision.


    The shock registered vividly on the assassin’s face, his eyes bulging in disbelief just before his body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.


    Elena sprinted to Wesley’s side, concern etched on her features. “Are you alright?” she asked breathlessly.


    Bathed in the silvery glow of the moonlight, Wesley managed a confident smirk. “Just a couple of small fry. They’re no threat to me,” he boasted with a dismissive wave of his hand.


    However, Elena’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something rming. His once pristine white shirt was marred by a growing stain of blood, seeping from a deep, jagged cut across his abdomen.


    Following her concerned gaze, Wesley nced down at his injury with feigned indifference. “It’s not that serious. You can patch me up once we’re back,” he said.


    Muttered, brushing off the severity. Elena, having treated his wound before, knew better.


    The wound was a raw, inmed red, seeping with infection and neglect.


    She pressed her lips together, a frown forming, yet she chose to remain silent.


    “Can you still walk?” she questioned, masking her worry with a tone of practicality.


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    Wesley gave a firm nod, his expression stoic.


    “Then let’s keep moving,” Elena dered, her voice icy as she turned to lead the way.


    Behind her, Wesley’s gaze lingered on her retreating figure, noting the icy resolve that seemed to emanate from her every step.


    In the shadowy depths of the jungle, danger prowled silently, cloaked in darkness.


    Vultures descended greedily on their macabre feast, while wild wolves observed their next meal with an unsettling, unyielding stare.


    Beneath the majestic canopy of a towering tree, Elena caught sight of Lydia.


    She found her standing solemnly, her posture defeated, herplexion ghostly under the moonlight, and her eyes clenched shut in anguish. At her feety two lifeless forms, draped in the chilling embrace of death.


    At the rustle of approaching footsteps, Lydia’s eyes snapped open, a spark of fierce determination ring within, her gaze sharp enough to cut through the thick, humid air.


    However, as she discerned the identity of the neer, the murderous fire in her eyes dissolved into relief.


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