Elena’s POV
“Touch her again,” he said, his tone smooth as steel, “and you’ll wish it was only an arm.”
No one answered. No one even breathed.
And then he took my hand and led me out like the matter was closed.
We stopped by another wing of the hospital. He pushed me gently into an exam room.
“You’re injured, Elena,” he said. “Sit.”
I wanted to argue, but my wrist was already swelling. Sitting was easier than fighting.
He opened a nearby cupboard and pulled out a miniature first aid box. Assessing the damage, he laid out the contents of the box.
He cleaned the scrapes on my skin with alcohol pads, his fingers surprisingly careful. The sting made me wince.
His gaze flicked up, catching my reaction. For a moment, his jaw unclenched. Something almost soft passed o
