?Chapter 964:


    Without so much as a nce up, Wyatt slid a card across the table. “Job’s in two days. Cyrus and I’ll take care of it.”


    From the corner, Cyrus Valdez straightened, his blond hair catching the dim light as his curiosity red. Grinning, he tossed his losing hand aside. “What’s the cut looking like?”


    Once content to hustle on the streets, this gang had long since traded pickpocketing and small-time gigs for something darker—abduction, ck-market deals, and organs sold to ghosts. Their mysterious employer always took the lion’s share, but the scraps left behind were enough to keep them fed, drugged, andcent.


    With a sidelong look, Wyatt silently signaled. Cyrus picked up on it instantly, pulling out a cigarette and flicking his lighter without being told.


    As smoke curled from his lips, Wyatt spoke with aid-back drawl. “Already burned through yourst cut, huh?”


    That casino trip five nights ago had drained Cyrus dry. If there had been any winnings, he wouldn’t be loitering around, itching for the next job. Running a hand through his hair, he offered a crooked grin. “Had a little bad luck, that’s all…”


    Wyatt reached into his jacket and lobbed the phone across the table. “Study that face. You screw up the grab, and we all pay for it.” Elena’s image filled the screen—so striking in its perfection that it almost looked artificial.


    From across the room, Cyrus let out a low whistle. “She’s way too high-profile. We usually go after nobodies. What makes her worth the trouble?”


    Targets had always been chosen for convenience, not for looks or status. This time, though, the rules had shifted.


    Casually flicking ash from his cigarette, Wyatt answered with a drawl, “She made the mistake of getting on N’s bad side.”


    Cyrus clicked his tongue and muttered, “Dr. Vance, huh.” Whatever questions he had, he kept them to himself.


    There was no need for exnation—everyone in their circle already knew the truth. They’d watched N in action—cutting into unconscious people with chilling precision, her hands never trembling. She was cold, brutal. A monster dressed like a doctor. Only a fool would go up against her. That woman was pure poison.


    With her orders handed off, N made a quiet detour at a corner store, picking up a few bottles of supplements without drawing attention. Shadows had begun stretching across the pavement by the time she made her way back to the base.


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    At the security gate, the guards noticed the stic bags hanging from her arms and stepped aside without hesitation. No questions were asked. No suspicions were raised.


    One of them, watching N disappear beyond the checkpoint, muttered with soft admiration, “Dr. Vance really is a kind soul…”


    Elena emerged from the bathroom in her pajamas, her wet hair sticking to her shoulders. She spotted Wesley lounging casually on her bed and came to a halt. “This room is mine,” she said, addressing him.


    Wesley, in his pajamas and nestled beneath her nket with a book, looked entirely at ease, as though he had every right to be there. He didn’t even nce up. “I’m yours too,” he said with azy drawl.


    For a moment, Elena had no response. He really had a knack for dropping cheesy lines these days. She found herself quietly questioning where he’d picked up those words. She was still more ustomed to the old Wesley—quiet, reserved, and definitely not this flirtatious.


    Noting her hair was still dripping, Wesley set the book aside, stood up, and grabbed the hairdryer. He motioned subtly toward the bed, wordlessly inviting her to sit.


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