?Chapter 1296:


    “Not bad,” he lied instinctively.


    Corrine tilted her chin, her cool, poised demeanor unwavering. “Show me your hand.”


    A flicker of hesitation crossed his face before he slowly obeyed.


    His fingers trembled as he lifted them, revealing raw, mangled flesh where his nails had been. The sight sent a sharp pang through the air, an unspoken pain hanging heavy in the moment.


    Lone Ranger’s strength had always been in his intelligence, in the swift, precise movements of his fingers across a keyboard. Those hands—the same that had cracked the most imprable security systems and held the fate of men within their reach—were now ruined.


    Corrine’s breath hitched. Her expression remained unreadable, but the sharp glint in her eyes spoke volumes. She turned her gaze toward Jonathan, who lounged in his chair with practiced ease.


    Jonathan caught her stare and shrugged indifferently. “Don’t look at me like that. He wanted me dead. I could have done worse, but for your sake, I was merciful.”


    Mercy. The word tasted like poison. Jonathan was not the kind of man to forgive or forget. He struck where it hurt most, where the lesson would linger long after the wounds had healed.


    For Lone Ranger, that meant his hands—the very tools that defined him—were now a permanent lesson carved into flesh.


    Corrine inhaled slowly, tempering the fury rising within her. She turned toward the doorway. “Matias,” she called, her voice firm. “Take him to the hospital.”


    Matias didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside, moving swiftly and efficiently as he reached for Lone Ranger.


    As they made their way out, Lone Ranger nced back, his eyes shadowed with something heavy—an unspoken sorrow deeper than words. Jonathan watched him hesitate, amusement curling at the edges of his lips. His voice, chilling and cold, sliced through the air. “If you’re so unwilling to leave, why not leave your life here instead?”


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    Lone Ranger stiffened. He didn’t need to be told twice. Corrine had risked herself for him. He had dragged her into this, and he refused to let her suffer the consequences of his mistakes.


    After they had gone, Jonathan leaned back, propping his feet on a footstool. A faint smirk yed on his lips, though his eyes remained ice-cold. “Remember what you said earlier. If any members of the Red me stir trouble in my territory again, they won’t leave in one piece.”


    “Of course,” Corrine replied smoothly.


    No sooner had the words left her lips than Jonathan straightened abruptly. “Come on, let’s y a round.”


    As they rose from their seats, Corrine suddenly faltered.


    Nate’s reflexes were quick—his hands shot out, steadying her before she could fall. His gaze darkened as he took in her unnaturally pale face. “What’s wrong?”


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