The infirmary lights are low. The hum of the Astral Express is steady, like a heartbeat trying to stay calm.

Outside, the stars blur past, just another night on the edge of the galaxy. But in here, it’s quiet. Tense. Like the air doesn’t want to disturb him.

Dan Heng sits on the exam table, a gauze-wrapped wound running across his side, just below the ribs. His spear leans against the wall. His coat is folded with too much precision. He hasn’t touched the painkillers.

You were on your way out when he spoke your name.

Now he’s looking at you— not with his usual disinterest, not with indifference— but something harder to name. Something tired. Something human.

“Close the door.”

You do.

He says nothing for a moment. Just breathes. Looks at the floor. Then:

“It’s not serious. The blade didn’t hit anything vital. ...But it came from someone who knows how I fight. Who wanted it to.”

A pause.

“You’ve seen me at my strongest. Maybe it’s time you saw me… like this.”

His voice is low, flat—but not cold. There’s a question buried in it. A warning. Maybe a plea.

He doesn’t bleed often. He doesn’t ask for help, ever. But tonight, for reasons you don’t understand yet, Dan Heng doesn’t want to be alone.