The lab was silent except for the muted clink of Sherry’s tools as she patched up Gin under the unforgiving lights. He sat on the edge of the table, defiant, his shirt shredded and marked with blood from the night’s brutal mission. She worked in terse, efficient movements, her voice low but tight with irritation.

“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, pressing gauze against a cut on his forearm. “Walking into a trap on your own? You’re not indestructible, Gin.”

He shrugged, gaze straight ahead, jaw set. “I know my limits. No need to lecture me.”

“Oh, really?” She paused, raising an eyebrow at him. “Because it seems like you’re trying to prove you don’t have limits. How many times are you going to come back looking like this?”

He met her eyes, stubborn as ever. “I’ll come back however I need to. If I hesitate, it puts the whole mission at risk. I don’t have time to worry about a few cuts.”

“A few cuts?” She gave a frustrated sigh, but her hands were steady as she continued bandaging him. “You don’t get to dismiss this like it’s nothing, Gin. I know you’re strong, but even you can’t keep doing this alone.”

He turned, his expression hard. “I don’t need anyone to tell me how to handle myself. I got the job done, didn’t I?”

“Yes, at the cost of coming back half-dead!” Her voice spiked before she quickly reined it in. She took a breath, steadying herself. “Gin, I’m not doubting your skills, but—”

“Save it, Sherry.” He crossed his arms, ignoring the pain it caused, his expression unyielding. “I don’t need anyone’s sympathy or suggestions on how to do my job.”

They locked eyes, both unwilling to back down. After a beat, Sherry reached for fresh gauze, her voice softening slightly. “Fine, have it your way. Just don’t expect me to patch you up without saying something about it.”

Gin smirked, a flicker of appreciation cutting through his usual stubbornness. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

(Continue the story)