The Net Begins to Close
Zyan Ashbourne walked toward his father's bedroom with the steaming bowl of medicinal potion balanced carefully in both hands.
Stopping outside the door, he gently knocked before speaking in a warm, respectful voice.
"Dad..."
"Your medicine is ready."
His tone was calm, almost affectionate.
Anyone listening would have believed he was nothing more than a devoted son worried about his father's recovery.
Taking a steady breath, he pushed the door open and entered the room.
The faint scent of medicinal herbs still lingered in the air.
Dario Ashbourne remained resting against the headboard, his complexion noticeably healthier than before.
The agonizing pain that had tormented him for days had already eased considerably after the medicinal ointment Julian had prepared was applied to his affected manhood. Although he still looked somewhat exhausted, the deep lines of suffering across his face had softened significantly.
