"I don't know." Prince Aidan refused to budge. And he truly didn't know.
"They were your people, and you say you don't know?"
Prince Aidan's expression turned cold. The Gray Mist forming his body gathered faster, billowing as it reassembled. "Are you talking to me? You should have seen this coming when you sent a Succubus to watch over a group of badly wounded patients who couldn't move."
"You..."
A flicker of wariness crossed the Elite's face.
"Move."
The Elite wasn't afraid of Prince Aidan—at least, he didn't dare kill him. But there was no need to make an enemy of the prince over a few expendable underlings. He snorted and stepped aside.
Prince Aidan left the restaurant.
As he approached the place, he saw a wooden sign standing in the corridor: "Patients, please do not die in the hallway."
"I'm looking for Olmedo Just Right."
Prince Aidan spoke to the servants who came to meet him.
They took him for another victim and led him to the sickroom with pained expressions.
The servants hurried away. Standing by the bed, Prince Aidan surveyed the room. There was no trace of the dead. It was unexpectedly clean.
He headed back out. The servants tried to stop him, but he let a little of his aura slip out, and they dropped to the floor, too afraid to interfere again.
Inside the sickroom, Annan studied the Believer who had been carried in with severe injuries.
"Are you dying?"
"Priest... save me..." the Believer pleaded between mouthfuls of blood.
"Don't worry, I'll save you." Annan loosened his belt. "But surgery has its risks, and treatment requires care..."
"Let me get to you while you're still warm..."
Two minutes later, Annan finished his "treatment," turned, and slipped into the next sickroom.
Prince Aidan had just