Zoya’s P.O.VAll these scares I kept getting that he might suddenly wake up and attack me were probably just my tired brain trying to tell me that I needed some much deserved rest.This hypothesis made sense, too, and even though my own kindness scared me, thedoctor in me wanted to tend to his wounds and care for him until he woke up. I did notknow if that was the smartest thing to do, but I wanted to do it anyway. I simply couldnot, in good conscience, turn away from someone in need, and aside from my moralcompass, I was bound by oath to help the helpless, even if that person was an enemy.Plus, it was not like I could haul him out of the house. It was better to tend to him thanlet the wounded man lay unconscious on the floor of the room, possibly gettinginfections from all the time he spent on the dusty, dirty ground with open cuts.Knowing me, I would never be able to sleep soundly knowing he was just… there.Sighing, my mind somewhat made up, I stood to take the dust cloth o
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