Page 4 of Serpent King's Revenge

I opened my mouth to argue–I wanted to keep Lily out of this if at all possible–but choked on a cry of pain instead. The world was starting to lose focus, blurring around the edges as I felt the warmth spread across my side and seep through my top. Justin was opening up another bandage, but we were quickly running out of supplies.

"Lily will be here soon," Justin reassured me again, tearing open the packet with shaking hands. "We just need to stop the bleeding until then."

Suddenly everything seemed distant and muted, like I was sinking into a deep abyss. All I could feel was Nathan's absence filling every corner of the room.

And then the door swung open.

Not Nathan…fuck, I wished it was Nathan.

Lily’s hair was a mess, scraped into a haphazard bun, dark circles under her eyes. “I got here as fast as I could. What happened?”

“She got stabbed protecting us,” Justin told her. “I don’t…we can get into that. Just help her first.”

“This is unnecessary—fuck!” I said, clutching my side.

Lily’s eyes widened. “Seems unnecessary, yeah.”

"Sit," Justin commanded gently, hand on my elbow guiding me toward the worn couch that Nathan had shackled me to once upon a time. God, that felt like it was years and years ago. Slumping down, I tried not to wince too much. His concern was nice, but I couldn't let myself get comfortable—not yet.

"First aid kit?" Lily's voice came sharp and quick.

"On the kitchen counter," I muttered between gritted teeth, trying to keep my breathing even. My training kicked in—panic wasn’t an option, especially not when Nathan was probably sitting in a cell right now because of me.

But there'd be time for guilt later. Right now, I had to focus on the wound and the Zhou siblings looking to me for the next move. We were all pieces on a chessboard, and with Nathan gone, it was up to me to call the plays.

I just needed to make damn fucking sure I was awake and healthy enough to do it.

"I’ll grab it," Justin said, his eyes darting to his boyfriend, a silent conversation happening between them. “I think we already used up all the gauze though.”

“Shit…okay,” Lily said. “Just grab whatever you can–and find some towels, please. Grab anything that could help.”

Justin and Derek exchanged a look and took off.

"Let's see it," she murmured, her fingers deft as she moved my blood-drenched shirt up with a care that suggested she'd done this more times than any college student ever should. Justin’s cat, Bao, came over to investigate, but Lily just batted her away. Lily’s hands were steady, completely different to the rapid drumming I could feel against my ribs. My breath hitched, not from the pain, but from the cold touch of her fingers on my skin.

"Sorry," she whispered, sensing my discomfort, though whether for the chill or the situation, I couldn't be sure.

"Don't be." I managed a tight smile. "Risk of the job."

Lily gave a small huff, a ghost of a laugh–then she peered up at me. “That job being Nathan’s fiancee?”

I grimaced. “Uh…we can get into that later.”

Thankfully, Lily accepted my answer and focused on the wound. She was nineteen, but in that moment, she might as well have been a seasoned medic, her movements practiced and precise. She took the bandage I had put on it off and looked at my attempt at stitching myself up.

“I mean, this could be worse,” she said. “You did a good job. But we can do better.”

The wound was a crude reminder of the life I had chosen—or maybe the one that had chosen me. It was a sharp, burning sensation every time I dared to breathe too deeply. But then there was Lily, barely an adult, patching me up like it was just another Tuesday morning. It shouldn't have been her reality, but our world, the dark underbelly of San Francisco didn't care about should-haves.

"Looks like you've got quite the knack for this," I commented, trying to keep the atmosphere light despite the gnawing pain.

"Pre-med…plus coming from a family of gangsters," she replied curtly, never taking her eyes off the task at hand. She kept pressure on the wound as she rifled through her bag, pulling out some supplies. "Comes in handy."

"Seems like it," I agreed, gritting my teeth as she cleaned around the stab wound. Her touch was gentle, yet firm—confident and reassuring.

"Hey, Abby?" she asked suddenly, her tone shifting into something softer, almost vulnerable.

"Yeah?" I responded, bracing myself for the sting of antiseptic I knew was coming.

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