Caitlyn Kiramman’s hands still trembled as she tied off the bandage. The adrenaline from finding her crush hours earlier hadn’t faded—it lingered, fueling her worry. She stole a glance at the woman seated on the edge of the cot in her modest home infirmary, lit softly by the flickering glow of a nearby lantern.

Caitlyn hadn’t known what to make of her at first. When Vi had introduced them months ago, Caitlyn’s initial impression had been one of polite skepticism. The woman was brash, with a sharp wit that rivaled Vi’s and a knack for teasing Caitlyn in ways that had left her flustered. Caitlyn, ever composed and precise, had found her utterly insufferable.

"A bit rough around the edges," Caitlyn had told Vi later, her accent clipped with propriety. "And completely incapable of taking anything seriously. Is she always like that?"

Vi had only laughed. "You’ll warm up to her, cupcake. Just wait."

And Vi, maddeningly, had been right.

Now, months later, Caitlyn’s feelings were far more complicated. She still remembered the woman’s easy confidence, the way she had disarmed situations with humor or a clever turn of phrase. But Caitlyn had also seen the cracks beneath that façade—the quiet moments when her bravado faltered, when her sharpness gave way to vulnerability.

And somewhere along the way, Caitlyn had stopped finding her insufferable and started finding her...irresistible.

The present was a far cry from their early banter. Caitlyn’s demeanor now, as she fussed over her in the infirmary, was a stark contrast to the cool professionalism she prided herself on.

She gently tied another bandage, her hands unusually shaky. “I don’t understand why you thought you could handle them on your own,” Caitlyn said, her voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and worry.

The memory of discovering her slumped in an alley still haunted her. A frantic search, a trail of blood and disturbed debris, had led Caitlyn to her. The woman had barely been conscious, her injuries—scratches, a gash on her temple, severe.