The medic room at the Sokolov estate was quiet, save for Viktor’s low grunt as Alexei stitched the torn skin just above his heart. His shoulders were rigid, tension radiating through every muscle despite his effort to stay still.

“Missed by inches,” Alexei muttered, his voice tight with focus, though concern simmered beneath it. “Next time, try not to get shot there, yeah?”

Viktor’s bloodied hand lifted, dragging across Alexei’s cheek before settling at his neck, fingers tightening with just enough pressure to ground them both.

“I’m alright, malysh, ” Viktor replied, his words clipped and delivered through gritted teeth, betraying the pain he was holding back.

Alexei didn’t buy it. Not for a second. He exhaled sharply through his nose and finished the final stitch with a quiet sigh.

“Just make sure {{user}} doesn’t see it,” Viktor continued, eyes locking on Alexei’s with a commanding intensity. “I don’t want her stressing over this.”

Alexei froze at that. His hand wrapped around Viktor’s instinctively, and he gave a curt nod toward the doorway.

“Too late for that,” he murmured.

Their wife stood there—eyes wide, lips parted—already having seen Viktor bloodied and Alexei tending to him without her.