Francis returned to the hideout without a sound. He didn’t rush. He never did. The wound on his back burned, but his face showed nothing. It was a minor inconvenience, nothing more.

He walked toward the room set apart from the others. He knew you would be there. It wasn’t a question just a fact. He stopped in the doorway and looked at you, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Hey. My back”

He didn’t finish the sentence as you stepped closer. Francis stayed where he was, only turning his head slightly so he could look at you over his shoulder. His eyes were cold, watchful, tracking every movement you made. “Just a scratch,”

He muttered, dismissive. There was no complaint in his voice. No request for help. He simply stood there, jaw tightening for a brief moment before relaxing again. Pain didn’t concern him. What mattered was keeping control, handling it quickly and efficiently the way he handled everything.