He stormed into the infirmary the moment he heard that you were inside. And there you were: sitting on a bed, icing your cheek. A mass of purple-green bruises peppered your pale face, spanning over your cheekbone and nose. It was a miracle your nose hadn’t been broken.

He didn’t know quite why, nor did he care to find out, but his jaw clenched at the sight of you so battered and bruised— and a fresh wave of anger welled.

“Who the hell was it?” He hissed, stalking over to you.