?Chapter 992:


    Wesley’s eyes dropped. “We’re leaving.”


    Together, without a backward nce for N, the group strode out of the alley and melted into the city.


    As soon as they stepped onto the street, Wesley turned to Elena. “Where to?”


    Freedom from the confines of the base made Elena crave a change of scenery. She was eager to stroll around today. Her gazended on a cozy-looking coffee shop. “Let’s try that spot,” she suggested.


    Hidden from the bustle, the coffee shop provided a peaceful refuge. They settled at a table by the upstairs window.


    Without needing to ask, Wesley ced an order, and soon Elena had a cup of coffee in front of her.


    Ever vignt, Arion remained on his feet, scanning every passerby, his mind spinning with thoughts of Scarface possibly appearing. It baffled him how Wesley and Elena could sit so calmly, sipping coffee as if nothing threatened them. Was Scarface not on their minds at all?


    What Arion didn’t realize was that Elena had already shelled out a fortune for Nightshade’s services to protect Wesley—and Wesley was Nightshade himself.


    After sampling her drink, Elena set her cup down with little enthusiasm.


    Catching her reaction, Wesley arched a brow. “Not enjoying it?”


    Her answer was blunt. “This coffee’s sour.”


    Improperly stored beans could do that—ruin the whole batch with just a hint of bad vor.


    Wesley offered a faint smile. “If you’re a coffee lover, I’ve got some beans that put this to shame. Next time, I’ll bring you a bag.”


    She wasn’t sure what he found so amusing but gave a small nod in reply. She lowered her eyes, lost in thought.


    A flicker of concern crossed Wesley’s features. “Something on your mind?” he asked, breaking the silence.


    Elena looked up with anguid air, her expression sharp and detached. Wyatt’s parting threat still echoed in her thoughts, and with it came a creeping realization—she had overlooked something vital. He hadn’t just threatened her; he had imed he would slice her open alive. In the world of human trafficking, victims were usually sold. So why go beyond that?


    Elena’s tone stayed smooth and even, but something colder lurked beneath. “After the human traffickers catch someone and sell the captives at an illegal auction, what happens next?”


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    A grim theory began to take shape in her heart.


    Wesley’s mouth tilted into a slight grin. “What’s worth more than a living body? Fully functioning organs.”


    Elena’s eyes flickered. They had bothnded on the same horrific answer. Organ trades yielded far more profit than human trafficking alone.


    Some operations focused entirely on extracting organs from the living, feeding the demands of the elite—from business moguls to high-ranking officials. The act of tearing into a breathing person was barbaric, and wherever these butchers worked, they were reviled.


    Elena stayed quiet, prompting Wesley to lift an eyebrow. “You scared?”


    Elena’s smirk was sharp,ced with scorn. “Vermin hiding in corners—what’s there to fear? I find them, and I tear them apart.”


    Wesley watched her, transfixed. She moved through life unflinching, untouched by fear, beholden to no one. “What’s your n?” he asked.


    Her expression remained unreadable. Any organization involved in something that vile had to be shielded by real power. Going after them would surely stir up trouble, and she didn’t want to drag Wesley down with her. She brushed his question off with casual indifference. “There’s no n. I just saw a dessert stand earlier—I’m in the mood for something sweet.”


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