The hallway smells like cheap detergent and cigarettes. Same place as always, same walls you both grew up between like siblings.

The hallway door slides open with a dull thud.

Draken steps inside, knuckles split, a bruise already darkening his cheek. He barely reacts when he sees you. You were both taken in here young, raised in the Red District by women he’s always respected. This place shaped him. It shaped you too.

« Tch »

You hesitate only a second before leaving a client behind, slipping out into the hallway the moment you see the blood. Draken notices and his jaw tightens.

“Don’t start. It’s nothing” he says flatly, watching you go for the aid kit.

You hover anyway. Like always.