Bernard.

We were running out of time. Six years had already slipped past us, and with every passing moment, things were slipping further out of control, becoming harder to contain or correct.

"Damn you, Theresa," I muttered under my breath, my jaw tightening as the frustration built up inside me. "If only you hadn’t been so strong back then... strong enough to still escape even after being injected."

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head in irritation.

We had been so close.

So close to finally getting everything under control.

She had actually fallen asleep after the injection—that part had worked exactly as planned. Everything should have gone smoothly from there.

But then something unexpected happened.

Her wolf had gone feral.

Just like that, everything collapsed.

I hadn’t even realized she possessed that level of strength at the time. It still irritated me whenever I thought about it. That single miscalculation had changed everything.

"Fuck!" I cursed out loud, my voice echoing slightly as I continued walking along the roadside, unable to calm my thoughts.

I was still lost in frustration when it happened.

A van suddenly pulled up beside me without warning.

Before I could even properly react, three men dressed in nurse uniforms stepped out quickly and moved toward me. In an instant, they grabbed me by both arms, restricting my movement.

"What the hell—let go of me!" I yelled immediately, struggling against their grip as I tried to pull myself free.

Their hold was firm, stronger than I expected.

"We are sorry, Mr. Bernard," one of them said in a calm but firm voice. He was holding a booklet in one hand and wore a white coat over his uniform, as though trying to appear professional. "But you need to be under strict medical observation. Your mental health is deteriorating with each passing second."

For a moment, I stopped struggling just to process what he had said.

Mental health?

What nonsense was he talking about?

My expression hardened instantly.

"I think you have the wrong Mr. Bernard," I said firmly, forcing myself to maintain control of my expression despite the irritation building steadily in my chest. My voice was steady, but there was a clear edge to it as I tried to make them understand the obvious mistake they were making. "I am Bernard Ironclad. And if you check my medical history, there is nothing like a mental issue—not even in my bloodline."

I straightened my posture slightly as I spoke, instinctively letting pride slip into my tone even though the situation itself was anything but dignified.

Everything about this felt insulting.

"So let me go," I added sharply, once again attempting to pull my arms free from their grip, testing their hold as I tried to regain control of the situation.

But none of them moved.

"I am aware of your identity, Mr. Bernard," the man in the coat replied calmly, his tone remaining disturbingly composed. It was almost rehearsed, as though he had repeated these exact words many times before. He adjusted the booklet in his hand slowly while keeping his eyes fixed on me, studying me as if I were already a confirmed case rather than a person being questioned. "I am not mistaken. You are exactly the person we came here for."

The certainty in his voice only made my irritation spike further.

I exhaled sharply, my patience thinning rapidly.

My jaw tightened as I stared at him, unable to believe the absurdity of the situation unfolding in front of me.

A cold scoff escaped me before I could stop it.

"Can you hear yourself?" I asked, my voice rising as frustration pressed harder against my chest. "Do you think you would be having such a calm and professional conversation with a mentally unstable man?" I snapped, unable to hold back the anger anymore.

The words came out louder than intended, echoing slightly in the open space around us.

The absurdity of it all made my head pound.

But instead of backing down, the man simply responded with an almost infuriating calmness.

"Well, that is exactly what a mentally unstable man would say."

I rolled my eyes immediately, the frustration hitting me even harder now. My jaw tightened as I stared at him, trying to understand what kind of nonsense situation I had found myself in.

"What exactly is wrong with you?" I asked sharply, glaring at him. "Tell your nurses to let me go."

My voice carried authority, but it seemed to have no effect on him.

"I am sorry," he said smoothly, shaking his head slightly, "but we cannot let a mentally unstable man run loose."

He even smiled as he said it.

That smile alone made my temper spike.

"Who sent you?" I asked suddenly, my tone dropping slightly as a sharp realization began to settle in.

At this point, it was no longer just confusion or irritation. Something deeper was beginning to click into place. It was becoming increasingly obvious that this entire situation wasn’t random at all. Nothing about it felt accidental or spontaneous anymore.

Everything pointed to something deliberate, planned and staged.

The timing of their arrival, the way the van had been positioned so conveniently nearby, and even the unnatural confidence they carried while handling me—all of it now seemed too coordinated to be a coincidence.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he replied without even a moment of hesitation, his voice steady and unreadable.

Then, almost immediately, he turned his head slightly toward the nurses beside him.

"Take him into the van," he ordered firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument or delay.

The moment the command was given, the three men tightened their grip on me immediately, restraining me more forcefully than before.

I struggled against them, but their hold was too strong as they began dragging me toward the van parked carelessly by the roadside.

The wheels of the situation were already in motion, and I could feel control slipping further away with every step.

And at that moment, only one thought kept repeating itself in my mind.

’Call him!’