I stare at him.
Flat.
Unimpressed.
“You’re bleeding through your shirt,” I reply.
“It’s not that bad.”
“…Lord, give me patience…”
“What was that?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
I drop to my knees in front of him and don’t wait for permission this time.
He doesn’t stop me.
Also new.
I push his hand away from his side and lift his shirt.
And—
Yeah.
That’s not a graze.
“That’s a bullet,” I say.
“It didn’t go through.”
“No,” I reply. “It didn’t. Which is actually worse right now.”
His jaw tightens.
But he doesn’t complain.
Doesn’t flinch.
Just watches me.
That’s almost more annoying.
“Hold still,” I say.
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
I shoot him a look.
He almost smiles.
Unbelievable.
I grab my kit—hands steady, mind sharp.
Focus.
