He returned carrying the first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey, and he’d replaced the towel with a pair of black sweatpants, slung low on his hips.
He set the kit down beside me and uncapped the whiskey, taking a swig before offering it to me.
“For the pain,” he said simply.
I took a swig, the alcohol searing down my throat. It warmed my chest but did little to dull the ache.
Talon knelt in front of me, his movements slow and deliberate as he opened the first aid kit. He pulled out antiseptic, gauze, and a needle with thread.
“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, his voice low.
I nodded, bracing myself as he cleaned the wound. The sting was sharp, but I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. His hands were steady, his touch careful but firm. He worked in silence, threading a needle w
