The tent flap was warm against his bloodied knuckles as he pushed through.Natasha sat on the edge of the cot, spine rigid, green eyes burning into him the moment he stepped inside. Maren hovered near the supply table, hands clasped tight, but Damien dismissed her with a single look.The healer slipped past him without a word.The tent flap fell shut behind her with a soft whisper.Silence pressed between them.The lantern flickered, casting shifting shadows across Natasha's face, her sharp cheekbones, the stubborn set of her jaw, the fresh bandages wrapped tight around her shoulder. Blood still flecked the gauze.His blood, not hers.He noticed the difference immediately, and something dark and satisfied uncurled in his chest."You're hurt," Natasha said.Her voice was flat, controlled, but the bond betrayed her. Worry laced through it like thread through fabric, sharp and insistent despite her careful composure."Rogue blood."Damien crossed the tent in three slow strides, stopping
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