The doctor spoke in a calm tone as he stared at my injured thigh:
"Alright then... I'll disinfect the wound first,
and then we'll start treating it."
I nodded and whispered:
"Okay."
He motioned with his hand and said:
"Follow me."
We began walking down the hospital corridor, our footsteps echoing over the polished white tiles. The scent of disinfectants grew stronger the closer we got to the far end. The walls here were whiter, as if untouched by time, and the lighting above us was dim but enough to cast our shadows walking in silence.
He opened a side door and said:
"Come in."
I entered the room.
It was relatively small but meticulously clean. On the wall opposite was a pale gray metal cabinet, and in the corner stood a small table with a metal tray and neatly arranged tools. On the right wall, a high window let in soft natural light, and a medium-sized medical chair with faded blue padding sat beneath it. At the far end of the room, there was a small sink and a bottle of pink liquid soap.
The doctor pointed at the chair and said:
"Sit here."
I sat down, shifting my weight to the uninjured side of my body, breathing slowly to hide my tension.
He walked over to the cabinet and opened it with a soft creak. He pulled out a small transparent container filled with a lightly yellow antiseptic fluid, then took sterile gauze, rubber gloves, and a small pair of forceps from another shelf. He placed everything on the metal tray, then slipped on the gloves with a faint snap.
Without looking at me, he said:
"There will be some pain, but I'll try to be quick."
He began by tearing part of my pants around the wound, revealing an injury more swollen than I had expected. He examined it closely, dipped a piece of gauze into the antiseptic, and started gently wiping around the edges of the wound.
A sudden sting shot through me, as if the wound had just woken up. I gripped the edge of the chair tightly but said nothing.
He dipped a fresh piece of gauze and continued cleaning, his movements precise and careful. Then, using the forceps, he removed some tiny splinters from the skin—remnants of a battle I hadn't noticed before. After that, he applied a soft white powder—probably an anti-inflammatory—then covered the wound with a thick bandage and secured it tightly with white adhesive tape.
He calmly removed his gloves and said:
"That's it. Keep an eye on the wound. If you feel any heat or unusual pain, come back to me immediately."
I nodded and said:
"Thank you... really."
He smiled faintly and replied:
"No need to thank me. Just doing my job."
I limped out of the room, still favoring one leg, but inside me there was a strange warmth unrelated to the treatment. Maybe it was his words. Or maybe… it was simply the feeling of being seen.
---
After leaving the treatment room, I found the employer and Reagan waiting near the door. The employer looked at me and said, with a hint of awkwardness in his voice:
"Did you get your wound treated?"
I nodded silently. He sighed slightly, then said:
"I'm sorry… I completely forgot about your injury. All I could think about was whether Marcus would be okay… I'm really sorry."
I looked at him and offered a faint smile:
"It's alright… no need to apologize."
He nodded slowly, then said:
"Well then, I think it's time we head back… Let's go."
We left the hospital as the sunlight began to stretch through the streets, warm and gentle after a long night of darkness and worry. The sky was a soft blue, and birds had begun to chirp, as if the city was slowly waking up.
We walked in silence toward the hunting office. The morning light washed the sidewalks, and the fresh breeze brushed against my tired face. There weren't many people around—just a few workers preparing for a new day and some employees lazily opening up their shops.
When we reached the hunting office, it was clear everyone had already left. Only a few office workers remained, busy with paperwork and cleaning gear. The employer approached one of them and whispered something I couldn't hear.
After a few moments, he returned to us and said:
"Now, you should go somewhere and get some rest."
Reagan immediately said:
"I have a house, so I'll head off now. See you later."
We said our goodbyes as he walked confidently toward a sunlit street.
Then the employer turned to me and smiled:
"Looks like it's just us now… You must be sleepy. Since the mission is over and everything's done, here—this is a hundred dollars for everything you've done."
He handed me the money, then added:
"Go find a place to sleep. And come back tomorrow. Today, you get the day off."
I stared at the money in disbelief, overwhelmed by surprise. A hundred dollars? But… I hadn't really done anything. Why was he giving me this much?
So many questions spun in my head, but I quickly silenced them. I didn't want to think anymore. I just wanted to rest. The sun was shining, the street was quiet, and my body was exhausted...
At last… I would get the long, well-earned sleep I needed.