Chapter 27

Her Obsession.

Pretty Little Enigma.

The medic worked fast, methodical. His blade made quick work of her jacket and shirt, cutting away the blood-soaked fabric that clung to her skin like it belonged there. I watched, jaw clenched, every slice of that knife like a challenge to my control. It had to be done, I knew that. But seeing her like that, limp and bleeding, exposed and vulnerable… it hollowed me out. Her skin was pale, too pale, streaked with crimson and smeared with dirt. But she didn’t flinch, didn’t make a sound. She was out cold, and that scared the hell out of me more than the blood or the wound.

“Through-and-through,” the medic confirmed again, fingers already stitching her up. “Missed bone. Lucky.”

Lucky. That’s what they called this? I stayed close, not saying a word, not moving except to press the cold pack he handed me against her ribs when the swelling started to bloom there too. She didn’t react. Just breathed, barely. Shallow, quiet. Like if I blinked, she’d disappear back into the shadows she came from. When the medic finally packed up and nodded that she was stable, I exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours.

“She’ll sleep for a while,” he said, already turning to go. “Shock. Blood loss. But she’ll live.”

I carried her inside myself, wouldn’t let anyone else touch her. The room was quiet, warm. She looked so damn small now, curled up on the bed, bandages wrapped tight around her shoulder, her lips parted slightly with sleep. I should’ve left. Let her rest. But I couldn’t. Not yet. I grabbed one of my shirts from the dresser, black, soft, worn, and gently pulled it over her, being careful of the bandage. My fingers brushed her skin and I froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the fragility of it all. She was made of steel and smoke and silence, but right now? She felt breakable and fuck, she was beautiful. Not just her face, though it was stunning. Sharp cheekbones, long lashes clumped with dried sweat and blood. But it was more than that. It was the strength in her even now, unconscious and healing. It was the ghost of a smirk still etched into the corner of her mouth. It was the way her brow twitched slightly when I caught a snag in her hair as I ran my fingers through it. I wiped the blood from her cheek with a warm cloth, then from her neck, her hands. My shirt drowned her, sleeves falling over her fingers. She looked peaceful now, like all the war had been burned out of her. My little enigma.