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."

his words. Was she overthinking? She hadn't been consciously dwelling on anything

with the fear of Alexander discovering them in the living room in the middle of the night. The thought of Alexander's potential wrath sent a shiver down his spine, prompting him to push even harder for her to retreat to the bedroom. Quinn, unable to resist

two days, and Quinn had remained at home, not venturing to the office. This time, though, she wasn't alone. Soren was there,

showing signs of improvement. During one of his bandage changes, Soren informed her that the wound was healing nicely and her nails

her three injured 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?

quickly apologized,

for

from the wound that it had been caused by a piercing object, but he was at a loss as to what kind of accident could result in three fingers being impaled so precisely. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was unlikely to have been an accident. It

suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was coated in dust, still clad in the same clothes he'd been wearing when he left. His