Roxana was on her way out after giving blood to the butterflies in the incubation room. The raindrops were still thin, so she walked through the rain. Suddenly, she felt someone's presence behind. “Deon.”

At that moment, a strange light flashed through his glassy red eyes. Deon's hand reached forward and grabbed her wrist. His voice is low, almost a whisper. “Why are you hurt?” Deon looked down at her bandaged arm, then raised his gaze again to meet her eyes. “Is it a poison butterfly?”

Roxana didn't answer, intensifying his grip on the bandage. His fingers digging into the skin under the cloth, opening the wound.

“Let go.” Roxana sighed emotionless as if oblivious to his chilling presence and the pressure put on her arm.