Vincent was about to answer when his phone vibrated in his hand.One look at the caller made his expression sour. He turned away and picked up.
"How is he?" he asked, already bracing himself.
On the other end, Greg removed his hazard mask before speaking.
"His Majesty is getting worse," he reported. "The scent has turned toxic. We've cleared the entire Penthouse and sealed it off."
A beat of silence followed.
"He doesn't have much time. The doctors say his body can't handle the rut-delaying injections anymore."
Vincent's jaw tightened, irritation and tension flickering across his face. His fingers curled hard around the phone.
He ended the call abruptly.
For a moment, he didn't turn back—just stood there, shoulders stiff, as if weighing something he very much didn't want to do.
When he finally faced Ryley again, his expression was flat, resigned.
"Tch." Vincent exhaled through his nose.
"Fine," he muttered, clearly displeased. "Come with me."
