## 📖 Chapter 6: The Rogue's Double Life
The private medical room inside Bastian Hanggara's penthouse looked nothing like an ordinary clinic. It resembled a high-level military surgical facility, with white steel-plated walls, cutting-edge sterile surgical equipment, and the sharp smell of antiseptic mingling with the coppery scent of blood.
On the stainless-steel operating table, Elara lay there, holding her breath. Cold sweat dampened her forehead and neck, while her teeth clamped down hard on a rubber pad to muffle her screams.
"Hold on a little longer, Elara. Your muscle tissue is refusing to fuse. I have to remove the cells that died from this chemical burn," said Doctor Victor, a middle-aged man with thick glasses who served as Bastian's syndicate's secret surgeon.
Victor skillfully used a special scalpel to clean the edges of the wound on Elara's right arm. Every time the blade touched her flesh, Elara's body tensed violently. A silver wound was never as simple as an ordinary stab wound for the werewolf race. Pure silver worked like acid poison, continually eating away at cells from within and hindering the supernatural natural regeneration their kind took pride in.
In the corner of the room, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, Bastian watched every second of the procedure with an icy stare. There wasn't a trace of empathy on his face—only deeply restrained rage because his precious "property" had been damaged.
"Explain it to me, Victor," Bastian's baritone voice broke the tense silence. "What kind of weapon could cause burns like that on my best assassin? It wasn't a gunshot wound, and it wasn't an ordinary knife slash either."
Doctor Victor swallowed, his hands trembling slightly beneath the mafia boss's gaze. "I-It's... strange, Mr. Hanggara. The residue... it's high-grade silver nitrate. Extremely poisonous. Usually, this substance is only used by rogue hunters or... extremist factions along the northern border."
Bastian straightened and slowly approached the operating table. He looked down at Elara, who was still panting after Victor finished stitching her wound and wrapping it in thick bandages.
"The northern border factions," Bastian murmured, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Blackwood Forest. The territory of mutant dogs who claim to be the rulers of the wild."
Bastian reached out and brushed aside the stray hairs clinging to Elara's sweaty forehead. His touch was incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to the murderous aura radiating from his body.
"You're lying to me, Elara," Bastian whispered. He wasn't shouting, and that was precisely what made him sound so much more terrifying. "You weren't intercepted by ordinary border guards. Ordinary guards don't carry pure silver. You met someone of high rank. Who did you meet in that forest?"
Elara turned her face away, avoiding Bastian's obsessive stare. Her heart pounded. She could feel the pain in her arm, but it was nothing compared to the mental torture she was enduring.
Inside her head, her wolf continued to howl in misery. Mate... Alpha... He's close. He's looking for us.
Ever since she had leaped into the river, the mate bond had seemed like an invisible chain that kept pulling her soul toward Raga. Every time she tried to block out the image of the Alpha's golden-red eyes, the stabbing pain in her chest left her barely able to breathe. This was a Rogue's greatest curse—rejecting one's fated partner was tantamount to slowly killing oneself.
"I don't know who he is," Elara finally replied, maintaining the lie to stay alive. "It was dark. A rainstorm. I only saw them carrying silver weapons, and I immediately backed away."
Bastian stared intently at her, searching for a crack in the lie within Elara's silver eyes. After several seconds that felt like an eternity, Bastian pulled his hand away.
"Fine," Bastian said coldly. He turned toward Doctor Victor. "Give her the maximum dose of painkillers. I want her able to stand tomorrow morning."
Bastian turned and walked toward the door. Before leaving, he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. "Get some rest, Elara. Because tomorrow, I'll send my men to burn a small section of their beloved forest. Let's see which dog comes crawling out of its den once the smoke starts rising."
The door slid shut, leaving Elara in suffocating silence. She gripped the edge of the operating table until her knuckles turned white. War awaited her in both worlds, and she was trapped right in the middle of it.