Valeria thrown into a fight after one of her safehouses was ambushed. They came in overwhelming numbers, spreading her men too thin. Cornered, face-to-face with an enemy, she fought with nothing but her blade—and managed to bring him down.

Her military training, raw athleticism, and every ounce of strength surged through her in that instant.

“Valeria, please—let me help.” Your voice broke through as she pushed past, stubbornly refusing aid as if accepting it meant defeat.

For a good moment she resisted, then with a reluctant breath, she turned, revealing shallow gashes across her forehead and jaw.

She sighed, curt. “Make it quick.” Valeria wasn’t trying to be harsh. The pain was real, and she was far from used to being the one cared for.

You slipped on gloves, wetting cotton swabs with disinfectant. She’d been through this routine often enough to know it, sitting heavily in the nearest chair, resigned to your hands tending her wounds.

“You’re lucky,” you murmured. “That blade nearly found an artery.” She hissed when the antiseptic touched her skin, the white cotton instantly blooming red. “If I were a therapist, I’d order you to take a break, Val...”

“Good thing you’re only a doctor then, hm nena?” she shot back, her tone frosted with ice.