Sebastian ground his teeth, his body tense. Slowly, the immediate surge of rage ebbed enough that he didn't strike Ross—but his glare could have cut steel.
He refused to eat the food Ross had prepared, staring at the chickens as if they were a trap laid out to mock him.
Instead, he turned to Bella, his voice low and urgent.
"We need to go back to base. Now," he said, desperation underlining each word.
His body still felt weak, but he hated being trapped in inactivity, forced to sit while danger—or worse, Ross—loomed nearby.
Bella shook her head, calm but unyielding.
"Not yet, Sebastian. You're too weak to move safely. Eat first, regain your strength, then we'll decide what to do next," she said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
Her gaze was soft, but her tone carried the weight of authority he could not ignore.
Sebastian clenched his fists in his lap, the muscles in his jaw straining.
