Page 92 of Emperor of Havoc

I’ve still got her hands pinned. So instead of a reply, she just exhales sharply, wiggling just her fingers and making a face. But shedoesstop moving

I cut away her ruined shirt, peeling it away carefully from her wounds. She watches me as I clean the cut on her arm, eyes sharp despite the weariness in her face. I got most of the glass embedded in her skin out in Ryu’s car on the way back, but there’s still a tiny sliver in there. I grab a pair of tweezers and pause, meeting her eyes.

“This might hurt…” I warn.

She nods, her expression unchanging.

Quickly and precisely I extract the shard, her sharp inhalation the only sign of pain. Blood wells up immediately, and I press a clean cloth to the wound. She never flinches, and her eyes never leave mine.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” I mutter as I tape the bandage in place.

“For?” she signs slowly.

“For getting hurt,” I say roughly. “For…for making me care this much.”

Her eyes soften. Before she can respond I stand abruptly, grabbing another cloth to clean the abrasions on her knees and arm. Then I move to her temple, dabbing it gently, relieved to discover it’s just a superficial cut.

When I’m done bandaging her up she still looks fragile but the defiance is back, her chin tilted upward as if daring me to say what I’m thinking.

“Your turn,” she signs, nodding to my side.

I glance down at the blood soaking through my shirt. “Eh, it’s fine.”

She snorts. “It’s not,” she counters, her hands moving with surprising force. “Sit.”

I sigh but comply, dropping onto the closed toilet lid as she gathers the first aid supplies. Her hands are steady despite her exhaustion.

“Shirt,” she signs.

I peel off my ripped, bloodied t-shirt, dropping it onto the floor as she leans closer to the gash.

“This is going to sting,” she signs, her expression flat but her eyes holding a hint of amusement.

“I can handle it,” I reply, grinning.

She presses the antiseptic-soaked cloth to the wound on my side with more force than necessary, and I hiss through my teeth. She doesn’t apologize.

“Payback,” she simply signs.

“For…?”

“Being you.”

I laugh, the sound tumbling out. It’s a strange moment—quiet, almost domestic, yet charged with unspoken emotions. Her hands linger on my skin longer than necessary, her touch sending warmth through me that has nothing to do with the antiseptic.

When she finishes, she leans back against the counter. I rise slowly, my movements careful as I come closer to her. Her eyes meet mine, wary yet unyielding.

“You scare the hell out of me sometimes,” I mutter, my voice low.

She blinks. “Me?” she signs, caught off-guard, her hands moving hesitantly.

I nod, my gaze steady. “Yes. The way you fight, the way you refuse to back down. It’s…maddening.”

“And yet, here you are,” she replies, a slight smirk on her lips.

“Indeed,” I growl.

She flushes and looks down. Then her brow knits. “Wow, I’m really a mess.”

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