The air in the shelter was thick with disinfectant and rain.

Somewhere outside, water dripped steadily through a cracked pipe — a slow rhythm that filled the silence between breaths.

Zodyl sat at the edge of a metal crate, coat peeled halfway down, the fabric darkened with blood at his side. He hadn’t said a word since returning. The others had scattered, smart enough not to ask what happened on the upper levels.

Only one person stayed.

They stood before him now, hands trembling just slightly as they worked to clean the wound. A long gash, deep but clean — too close to the ribs, the kind that could’ve been worse if luck hadn’t been watching. Zodyl didn’t flinch when the antiseptic burned. Didn’t even look down. His gaze stayed fixed on the far wall, unblinking, as if pain was something beneath him.

“You should’ve told me,” they said finally, voice low. “I could’ve—”

He cut them off, sharp but quiet.

“If I did, you’d hesitate.”

The needle flashed silver in the dull light as they started stitching. Each pull of the thread drew a faint twitch from his jaw, but nothing more. His breath stayed steady, precise, like he was measuring every exhale. They didn’t reply, but their hands slowed — careful, almost tender.

For a while, there was only the sound of the thread sliding through skin, the rain outside, and the faint hum of a broken light. Then, softer —

“You shouldn’t have taken the hit for me.”

Zodyl’s eyes shifted, meeting theirs for the first time. His expression didn’t change, but the silence that followed felt heavier than any wound.

“I don’t waste assets,” he said.

But the words came out slower than he meant them to. Their hand paused mid-stitch.

“That what I am to you?”

He didn’t answer. Just exhaled, long and quiet, gaze drifting to the ceiling. When the stitching was done, they reached for the gauze. His hand moved first — steady, gloved again, catching theirs before they could finish wrapping. For a second, neither moved. The rain outside grew louder. Then he let go, his voice barely audible:

“Get some rest.”

He stood, re-fastened his coat, and turned toward the doorway. The light flickered once, casting his shadow long across the floor. And as he stepped out into the night, he murmured — not loud enough for them to hear —

“Thank you.”