"I mean exactly what I said," I replied evenly, meeting Leo's challenging gaze in the rearview mirror. "Your father's condition is critical, but treatable if we act quickly."
Leo's knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. "You still haven't answered my question about your martial arts knowledge."
"My knowledge comes from the same source as my medical training," I said simply. "My master was skilled in both arts."
The luxury sedan pulled through the gates of a traditional compound. Ancient architecture mixed with modern security systems created an impressive sight. Leo parked near the main building and jumped out immediately.
"This way," he said curtly, leading us through ornate corridors lined with weapons and martial arts paintings.
We entered a spacious room where Julian Cross lay motionless on a wooden bed. The man was in his fifties, with graying hair and a face that showed both strength and current suffering. His breathing was shallow and labored.
