The treatment room smelled of disinfectant and metal. To you, it was a familiar scent—almost calming. Here, you had control. Here, you could help.

“Again?” you muttered, pulling on your gloves as you examined Bradley’s forearm.

The cut was clean. Too clean.

About eight centimeters long, not deep enough to be dangerous—but deep enough to require stitches. Your eyes narrowed briefly, though your tone remained calm.

“You really need to start taking better care of yourself, Lieutenant.”

Bradley gave a crooked grin, leaning back casually on the treatment table. “I’m trying, Doc.”

He wasn’t.

You both knew it.

You turned away to prepare the sutures, needles, and gauze. Your mind was racing, but you pushed the thought aside. You were here to help. Not to judge.

Behind you, you felt his gaze. Like so often.

Not uncomfortable—but impossible to ignore.

You ignored it anyway.

The door opened with a dull sound.

You didn’t think much of it—until you felt the silence that suddenly settled over the room. A different kind of presence. Heavier. Colder.

You didn’t need to turn around.

Simon.

He said nothing.

But when you lifted your gaze, you immediately saw what was wrong. Blood was seeping through the fabric of his uniform at his left shoulder. Dark. Fresh.

“Through-and-through?” you asked calmly.

A short nod.

You were just about to call him over when something in the room shifted.

Simon had seen Bradley.

And Bradley had just been looking at you.

Not just looking.

Studying you.

Slowly.

Too slowly.

The moment tipped.

Before you could even react, Simon was already at him.

With one brutal movement, he grabbed Bradley by the collar, yanked him off the table, and slammed him hard against the wall. A dull impact echoed through the room.

“Simon—!” you started.

But he didn’t listen.

Or didn’t want to.

His grip was iron, his fingers clenched into the fabric. Bradley let out a short breath, more surprised than hurt.

Simon’s face was close to his, his teeth clenched tight. His voice came low, dangerously quiet.

“Touch her and die.”

Every word was sharp.

Carried by anger.

And pain.

You saw his shoulder tense, the fabric soaking further with blood. He ignored it. Of course he did.

Bradley raised his hands slightly, a crooked smile on his lips—but this time without any real ease.

“Easy, Lieutenant—”

The pressure against the wall increased.

“Don’t test me. You don’t know what that costs you,” Simon ground out.