CHAPTER 264: CHAPTER 264

Whitney eased Angela onto the hospital bed with careful hands, the sheets rustling softly as she adjusted her friend’s unconscious form, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She then sank into a chair beside the bed, her gaze sweeping over the group, taking in the chaos of the group.

Rex and Christian were at it again, their voices clashing in a familiar, heated bicker, words flying back and forth while Edge sat in brooding silence, his eyes fixed on Angela’s pale face.

The door creaked open then, and Cypher slipped in, his expression guarded, the faint chill of the outside air clinging to his clothes.

"Where did you go?" Christian demanded, pausing mid-argument to shoot him a quizzical look.

"Oh, I went outside, hoping to check if Remillia was still there," Cypher replied casually and smiled, though his eyes flickered with something deeper.

"Whitney, tell us already!" Rex suddenly remembered, his voice cutting through the room like a blade, snapping everyone’s attention back to her.

Watching them now, their faces etched with worry, their voices a mix of concern and confusion, she drifted into an idle thought, her mind wandering back to the beginning.

Since the start of class, they hadn’t been this close. If it weren’t for the tangled web of relationships tying Angela to her family, Whitney might have severed all contact with her entirely, silently expanding her connections and businesses. Edge and Cypher had been rivals back then, always aiming for the top spot, well, that’s how Edge saw it, anyway. Rex and Christian hadn’t even known each other since they have different groups.

But somewhere along the way, before she even realized it, everything had shifted. So many things had changed.

Whitney found herself becoming friendly to Angela, the walls she’d built crumbling down. Edge, in his gruff way, began to see Cypher not just as a competitor, but as a friend—though he’d never admit it aloud, his actions speaking louder than words. Rex and Christian had developed into the best of buddies, always bickering back and forth. And Cypher... for the first time, he’d opened his heart, having a crush on a girl that he doesn’t see as a friend or any other girls that he distanced himself from.

It was all because of one person.

That person had come crashing into their lives like a tsunami, a shepherd guiding a flock of sheep. And now, after gathering them close, she’d vanished suddenly, leaving them scattered and confused.

"Whitney? Whitney?"

Her name yanked her out of the haze of memories, jolting her back to the present. She blinked rapidly, her eyes refocusing on the group huddled in the hospital room—Rex, Christian, Cypher, and Edge—all watching her with a mix of curiosity and impatience, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows on their faces.

"Is she spacing out?" Christian teased, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he leaned against the wall.

"Go slap her," Rex suggested nonchalantly, as if it were the simplest fix, his arms folded across his chest like he was settling in for a show.

Christian shot him a warning glare, his eyes flashing. "You want me to die?"

"I don’t think hitting her is a good choice," Cypher chimed in, his voice steady and reasonable.

"Well, I believe in equality, so go!" Rex fired back, nudging Christian with his elbow, his smirk growing wider.

"Can you guys shut up?" Edge snapped, his glare sweeping over them, silencing the chatter with a single, authoritative glower.

Whitney cleared her throat, the sound echoing in the quiet room as everyone’s attention shifted back to her.

Rex grumbled under his breath to Christian, as if the moment had slipped through their fingers like sand.

"Then you do it," Christian hissed back, his eyes narrowing in challenge, the two of them locked in their petty standoff even now.

"Are the two of you done?" Whitney’s tone sliced through their bickering. "Because I’m trying to tell you what Remillia said."

That shut them up. Even Edge leaned back in his chair and stared at her.

Whitney continued, her voice softening. "She said she’s sorry."

The words hung in the air like unfinished business.

"That’s it?" Christian asked finally, disbelief lacing his tone.

"Yeah," Whitney confirmed, nodding slowly, her eyes drifting to Angela’s still form on the bed.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Cypher stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I’m going back to my room," he said. "I need some rest."

"Wait," Christian said, eyes narrowing. "You’re not worried about what she’s doing out there?"

Cypher gave a small, tired smile. "Remillia’s stronger than any of us. She’ll be fine. And besides—like Whitney said—we’ll see her again."

He turned away before anyone could argue, though deep down, he had so many questions burning to be asked—about the tattoo, the murder, her sudden flight—but he’d wait. He knows that they’ll meet again and if the time comes, he’d demand answers.

Whitney rose to her feet next, the chair creaking softly under her as she stretched her arms above her head. Her gaze lingering briefly on Angela before turning away.

"Where are you going?" Rex asked, his eyes flicking up from where he lounged against the wall.

"I’ll take a quick rest before coming back here to check on Angela," Whitney replied, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face.

"Well, we’ll also leave then," Rex said after a short pause, scratching his head before pushing off the wall. He reached down and grabbed Christian by the arm, yanking him upright.

"What—hey! Why am I also being pulled?" Christian protested, stumbling a little as Rex steered him toward the door.

"Are you that dumb?" Rex shot back, jerking his chin toward Edge and Angela.

Christian blinked, finally catching on. "Oh... right."

Whitney’s eyes flickered in their direction too. Edge was still beside Angela, his usual frown softened into something more gentle.

Whitney smiled faintly. It hurt, just a little, in the way that old bruises ached when pressed. But the sting was dull now, almost nostalgic. Without another word, she turned and walked out, the sound of her heels fading down the hallway as the door closed softly behind her.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Meridian Crest Hotel

After meticulously cleaning and dressing my wounds at a nearby pharmacy, I activated the Noblesee Codex, honing in on Whitney’s location. She was holed up at the Meridian Crest Hotel, a luxurious establishment run by her guild. Judging by her position and the way she operated, I figured she was probably staying in the penthouse suite—her domain. I let Macaron and Glacier go ahead first; I still needed to have a word with Whitney myself.

Without wasting time, I jumped into my motorcycle and drove straight to the hotel. Once there, I quickly threw on a simple disguise—colored contact lenses, a soft veil of makeup to dull my features. Then, slipping into the hotel’s service corridors, I moved quietly, avoiding the guild members.

In the staff room, I swiftly changed into a hotel uniform: a crisp white blouse, a fitted black vest, a skirt, and an apron. I tied my hair into a tight bun, straightened the collar, and caught my reflection in the small mirror. The face staring back at me was unfamiliar, but convincing enough.

Good enough.

Pushing a utility cart ahead of me, I made my way to the elevator. I pressed the button for the penthouse, the anticipation tightening my chest as I waited for the doors to slide open.

Ding!

The golden doors slid open smoothly, revealing a long, plush corridor bathed in warm, inviting light. I steadied my breathing and approached the last door—the one with the ornate silver plaque.

I knocked lightly.

There was a short pause before a familiar voice responded from inside. "Who is it?" Whitney asked.

"Room service," I replied, lowering my voice and masking my usual tone to sound more neutral.

A click sounded, and the door swung open. Whitney stood there in a loose silk robe, her damp hair falling over her shoulders. The moment her eyes met mine, her expression froze in confusion.

"Remillia?" she breathed, her voice tinged with shock.

I reached up and untied my hair, letting it fall freely. A faint smile curved my lips. "We still have unfinished business."

Her gaze immediately hardened, turning terrifying as she quickly pulled her whip from beneath her robe and pointed it at me. "What? Are you here to kill me next because I know your secret?" she spat, her voice sharp with suspicion.

"That’s not what I’m here—" I started to say, but she cut me off.

"I admit you’re strong, considering we’re the same age," she said, her voice trembling with a mixture of pride and fear, "but even if you kill me, can you leave this place alive, considering you’re still injured and my guild members are roaming around?"

I sighed softly, sensing her fear but also understanding her defensiveness. "Are you that scared of me?"

She blushed, humiliation flickering across her face. "No! I can handle you myself—alone!"

I nodded slowly, then took a step forward, voice calm but assertive. "Good. You probably have a lot of questions you want to ask, right?"

Whitney sighed, a mixture of relief and frustration, and lowered her whip. Her eyes flickered with a hint of vulnerability as she looked at me. "Why didn’t you say that in the first place?"

She didn’t even give me a chance to speak.

"Do you want to hear my side or not?" I asked, my voice steady but earnest.

"After that stunt you pulled earlier at the rooftop, of course I do," Whitney replied, folding her arms, her sharp gaze piercing into me. Then, with a resigned sigh, she opened the door wider. "Come in."

I stepped inside, the faint scent of her perfume mixing with the cool aroma of fresh air from the balcony. The penthouse was spacious, elegantly lit—soft white marble floors, a glass coffee table, and an entire wall of windows overlooking the glittering cityscape. I sank onto the couch, trying to read her expression.

"Are you not angry at me?" I asked quietly.

Whitney shot me a quick glare as she moved toward the minibar. "I’m definitely mad. Not just me—the rest are, too." She pulled out a few bottles and a tray of snacks from the fridge, setting them down with a clink. Then, softer, she added, "But don’t worry. I still consider you as an ally."

"After what you did just now?" I replied, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged, a hint of a smirk on her lips. "It’s not about trust; it’s about being cautious, you know?"

Her honesty struck a chord, making me chuckle despite the guilt weighing on my chest. "That’s reassuring," I said with a faint smile, feeling a flicker of relief.

She sat across from me, crossing one leg over the other as she gestured toward the spread. "I don’t know what you like, so help yourself."

My eyes fell on a bottle of deep crimson wine. I reached for it, reading the faint shimmer on its label. "Crimo," I murmured, impressed. Ordinary wine had no effect on those like us—it took specially crafted blends infused with mana to even reach our senses.

I poured a glass and took a sip. It was rich, fiery, and cold all at once—the taste lingered like a whisper of lightning.

Whitney said nothing, simply watching me as I finished the glass in one go. Her eyes were sharp but calm, like she was studying every flicker of my expression.

I set the glass down gently. "I’ll answer your questions," I said, my tone even.

Whitney tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Then did you really kill Raphael?"

The air in the room seemed to still.

I met her gaze—steady, unflinching. "Yes," I said quietly. "With my own hands."