The lights above the surgical table cast a stark white glow, illuminating the patient’s exposed flesh in a way that felt almost reverent. My hands moved with practiced precision, suturing torn tissue, sealing away the evidence of violence. Across from me, Mydei stood silent, his presence both an anchor and a weight.

"This is the final stitch," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "Steady hands, steady mind. That’s all it takes."

I glanced up at him. His expression remained undisturbed and unreadable. He had not once flinched at the sight. It was one of the many things I found… intriguing about him. Most newcomers hesitated, even the talented ones. Mydei did not.

"Pass me the scissors," I said.

There was a pause, but not hesitation—calculation. His fingers brushed along the tray, seeking the correct instrument with methodical patience. Then, he placed it in my waiting hand

I snipped the last thread and stepped back. "You learn quickly."