Love Unspoken

Reality abruptly reasserted itself and Quinn quickly stooped to gather the shards of broken glass scattered across the floor. Soren, however, swiftly intervened, raising a hand in a halting gesture. "Allow me," he insisted, "you should sit." His audacity in guiding her movements left Quinn feeling a strange unease, but she complied nonetheless, crossing the room to sink into the plush embrace of the sofa.

Once Soren had cleared away the remnants of the shattered glass, he poured a fresh glass of water and handed it to her. Retrieving a first aid kit, he set about rebandaging her wound with a quiet grumble of disapproval. "Whoever did this initially neglected to apply any ointment and bound it far too tightly. Were they hoping for an infection?" He questioned, his tone laced with irritation.

His words hung in the air for a moment before he glanced up, catching the hesitant look in Quinn's eyes. His own widened in realization. "Could it have been Alexander?" He queried, to which Quinn responded with a tight nod. Soren immediately fell silent, hastily assuring her, "I didn't say anything."

With the bandaging task completed, Soren regarded Quinn with a worried gaze. "Quinn, are you feeling unwell? Is that why you can't sleep? Let me check." His fingers found her wrist, his brow furrowing in concentration as he sought a reason for her insomnia. Her frailty, combined with a myriad of other factors, made it difficult to pinpoint a cause.

Eventually, he released her, coughing slightly to clear his throat. "You're just overthinking things. Try not to worry so much, relax."

She hadn't been consciously dwelling on anything in particular,

room in the middle of the night. The thought of Alexander's potential wrath sent a shiver down his spine, prompting him to push

sound of the rain outside her only companion. Alexander had been absent for two days, and Quinn had remained at home, not venturing to

a few bites of the meals he prepared. Her injured fingers were also showing signs of improvement. During one of his bandage changes, Soren informed her that the wound was healing nicely and her nails were

digits. It looked as though they had been painted with a colorful polish. Soren, wearing an awkward expression, asked, "Quinn, how did you get this injury? How did it even affect your nails?" Quinn paused, her lips pursing as

apologized, "Sorry, I

for the complete experience-all

loss as to what kind of accident could result in three fingers being impaled so precisely.

and now she had this peculiar injury. As Soren was lost in his thoughts, Alexander suddenly appeared in the doorway.