Page 152 of Knot Happening Again

He shakes his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is my fault."

"Beat yourself up for it later. It's not what Ophelia needs right now."

He nods listlessly and mutters, "Yeah. You're right."

I turn back to Ophelia, my stomach twisting at the sight of her pale face. She looks so small, so vulnerable. It's hard to reconcile this image with the fiery, stubborn omega I've come to know.

"We need to bring her fever down fast," Rhys says, his voice snapping me out of my thoughts. He's already rolling up his sleeves, doctor mode in full swing as he applies the pack of ice.Rhys places it gently on Ophelia's forehead, and she whimpers softly in her sleep.

"What else can we do?" Troy asks, hovering anxiously nearby.

Rhys runs a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in concentration. "We need more supplies. There's got to be a first aid center in this arena. We need antibiotics, IV fluids, proper bandages..."

"I'll go," Troy volunteers immediately. "Just tell me what to ask for."

Rhys nods, relief flashing across his face. "Tell them you need access to their medical supplies. Specifically, ask for broad-spectrum antibiotics, saline solution for an IV, and sterile bandages. If they give you any trouble, and they will, tell them it's for a fighter who's had an adverse reaction and you're working for his private physician."

Troy nods, determination etched into every line of his face. He squeezes Ophelia's hand gently before heading for the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

As the door closes behind him, a heavy silence falls over the room. Leon's still standing off to the side, looking like he might be sick at any moment.

Rhys clears his throat, his eyes meeting mine. "There's only one guaranteed way to deal with this," he says quietly.

My breath catches in my throat. I know what he's going to say before he says it.

"Completing the mark," I finish for him, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys nods, his expression grim. "It would stabilize her condition immediately."

Leon's eyes widen. "She'd never go for that."

I shake my head in agreement, feeling a surge of protectiveness. "She's not ready for that," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

"I know," Rhys agrees, his voice heavy with resignation. "That's why I'm going to do everything I can to get this under control here. But if we can't... we might need to take her to a hospital."

The thought of Ophelia in a hospital, surrounded by strangers, makes my skin crawl. Especially since there's no guarantee of escaping from the press there now that they're on her trail and Leon's victory—and subsequent beatdown of a journalist who's probably texting everyone he knows on his way to get patched up—just put our pack on the map in a whole new way.

But I know Rhys is right.

Her safety comes first.

The door bursts open what feels like an eternity later, and Troy rushes in, arms full of medical supplies. "Got everything you asked for," he pants, dumping the items on a nearby table.

Rhys springs into action, sorting through the supplies with practiced efficiency. He prepares an IV line, his movements quick and precise.

"Hold her arm steady for me," he instructs Leon, who complies without hesitation.

Leon touches her like she's made of glass.

Like he doesn't belong in her presence.

I watch as Rhys gently inserts the needle into Ophelia's arm, connecting it to the bag of saline solution. He then prepares a syringe of antibiotics, injecting it into the IV line.

"This should help bring down the fever and fight the infection," Rhys explains as he works. "But the mark itself needs attention."

He gently turns Ophelia's head, exposing the angry, inflamed skin of her neck. My stomach lurches at the sight. The half-formed mark is open and bleeding now, a slow trickle of red staining her pale skin.

Rhys cleans the area carefully, his touch feather-light. As he applies an antibiotic ointment and begins to bandage the wound, Ophelia stirs.

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