Vivian sat quietly in Noah’s car, her gaze fixed numbly on the bandaged hand resting in her lap. Each heartbeat sent a fresh wave of throbbing pain radiating through her palm, sharp reminders of the violence she'd willingly embraced tonight. The dim streetlights outside spilled softly across her fingers, highlighting the stark white of the makeshift dressing and accentuating the blood slowly seeping through.

  Mochi’s terrified screams still echoed vividly in Vivian's ears, overlapping with the haunting revelation about Serena. Murder. The word repeated itself relentlessly, bitter and impossible to ignore. Vivian had always known Serena's wealth and influence came from questionable means, but murder had never crossed her mind. It felt unreal—disturbingly alien—to associate Serena with that kind of brutality.

  Vivian flexed her injured fingers carefully, flinching as pain surged sharply through her nerves. In a strange, bitter way, she welcomed the sting—it distracted her from the far darker thoughts clawing at the edge of her consciousness. How had she fallen so far, so quickly? Each step felt irreversible, pulling her deeper into shadows she'd never imagined navigating.

  She shook herself slightly, forcing her breathing steady. When Noah finally slid quietly into the car, she didn't immediately look up. He paused, glancing briefly at her to ensure her seat belt was fastened, his eyes unreadable as always. The silence between them was heavy, layered with the unspoken question Vivian deliberately refused to voice—she didn’t want to know what had happened to Mochi. Worse, a cold, detached part of her didn't care.

  When they returned to Noah’s apartment, Noah immediately retrieved a large box that Lucas has brought over previously. It was filled with medical supplies, medicines, and syringes . He guided Vivian carefully to the bed, his movements calm and purposeful.

  “Lie down,” he instructed softly, gently positioning her so she could rest her injured hand comfortably.

  Vivian settled quietly, watching him anxiously as he carefully unpacked his supplies. Noah began by pressing sterile gauze firmly against the deep wound in her hand, applying steady pressure. Vivian’s breath caught slightly, a sharp, burning ache radiating from her palm. She instinctively flinched, trying to pull away, but Noah steadied her gently.

  “Try to hold still,” he murmured, elevating her hand carefully above her heart to slow the bleeding.

  After several minutes, when the bleeding slowed, Noah flushed the wound carefully with cold saline solution, allowing the runoff to collect neatly in a container on the floor. Vivian’s jaw tightened reflexively as he gently dabbed antiseptic around the injury, the iodine stinging slightly but manageable compared to the initial pain.

  “How do you know how to do all of this?” Vivian asked softly, curiosity evident in her voice as she watched Noah expertly navigate the medical supplies.

  Noah paused only briefly, his reply steady and matter-of-fact. “When you leave Black Lotus, sometimes people still find you, no matter how carefully you've covered your tracks. You learn to take care of yourself.”

  Next, Noah drew Lidocaine, a strong anasthetic, into a syringe, carefully injecting small amounts along both sides of the wound. Vivian inhaled sharply at the tight, burning sensation, instinctively jerking her hand, but Noah held her wrist steady, his grip reassuring. Slowly, a dull numbness spread around the wound, leaving her feeling only gentle pressure as Noah lightly touched the area to test it.

  Satisfied, Noah carefully pinched the edges of the wound together, positioning them with gloved fingers. Vivian’s shoulders relaxed slightly, reassured now that the worst of the pain had passed, though she still felt the strange, distant sensation of something happening to her hand.

  As Noah began stitching, inserting the needle gently through her skin, Vivian felt no sharp pain—just a vague pulling sensation. The sight of the needle moving in and out of her skin was unsettling, and she exhaled slowly, shifting her gaze away.

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  Noticing her discomfort, Noah softly asked, “Tell me about your childhood. Distract yourself.”

  Vivian hesitated briefly, then began quietly, “My parents ran a convenience store. I used to steal chocolate bars before school—I thought I was sneaky, but I’m pretty sure they knew.”

  Noah smiled slightly, still focused on his careful stitching. “What were your parents like?”

  “My mom was patient,” Vivian said softly, smiling faintly. “She had a knack for sewing and weaving. She tried teaching me, but I was hopeless—no talent or coordination at all. My dad was impatient, his brain even more so. He’d jump from idea to idea halfway through sentences. It drove my mom crazy, but I always found it funny.”

  Noah’s expression softened slightly, still intent on his task. “Sounds like they were good days.”

  Vivian’s eyes teared up briefly, prompting her to quickly change the subject. “What about yours?”

  Noah laughed bitterly, his tone guarded. “It’s a depressing cliché. You don’t need to know.”

  “I don’t mind,” Vivian murmured quietly, offering an out. “But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  A long silence stretched between them, and Vivian thought Noah would choose not to answer. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke, his voice neutral and distant. “My mom was a prostitute, worked at Orchard Alley.”

  Vivian’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt.

  “She was a shitty mom,” Noah continued flatly, eyes never leaving his careful work. “She never made much, and whatever she did make, she’d spend on drugs or alcohol.”

  “I’m sorry,” Vivian whispered gently.

  Noah’s voice remained neutral, detached. “Don’t be. I didn’t spend all my time with her. Every now and then, a teacher would pretend they cared and report her. They’d ship me off to a group home for a bit.” He paused, clearly guarded.

  “Is that where you met Marcus?” Vivian asked gently.

  Noah laughed, sounding relieved. “No, we met in high school. He was a few years older—I think he felt sorry for me. Asked me if I wanted to make some easy money one day. We just got close after we started working together.”

  Vivian hesitated softly, “Do you still talk to your mom?”

  “No. She’s probably dead by now anyway.”

  The starkness of his words pulled painfully at Vivian’s heart, and before she realized it, she reached out her uninjured hand to cup his face. The instant their skin made contact, they both froze. Noah’s eyes met hers sharply, and for a tense moment, they simply stared at each other, Vivian’s heartbeat loud in her ears.

  Quickly, she withdrew her hand, cheeks flushing hotly as she turned her gaze away. Noah cleared his throat abruptly, hastily finishing the stitches.

  Noah carefully tied off the last suture, his movements precise and controlled. Vivian watched quietly, her mind drifting as the adrenaline rapidly faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. She felt no pain, only a tightness where the stitches now held her skin together.

  He snipped away the excess thread, setting the scissors aside quietly. Gently, Noah applied antibiotic ointment over the fresh stitches, his touch cautious yet methodical. Vivian flexed her fingers slightly, testing the movement. Noah immediately placed his hand lightly over hers, halting the action.

  “Don’t do that,” he cautioned softly. “You could pop a stitch.”

  Vivian murmured a quiet acknowledgment, dropping her hand still again. The room felt quieter now, heavier, the lingering intimacy of their previous exchange settling uncomfortably around them. Her mind replayed the moment she had touched his face, and heat rose in her cheeks again. She quickly pushed the memory away.

  Noah wrapped her hand carefully in sterile gauze, securing it neatly with medical tape. Once finished, he gently released her hand, setting it down comfortably on her lap.

  “Keep it clean and dry,” Noah instructed calmly, his eyes still focused on the careful bandaging. “Don’t flex it too much—you’ll risk breaking the stitches. Watch for any redness, swelling, heat, or pus. Those are signs of infection.”

  Vivian nodded slowly, feeling lightheaded and drained. Her eyelids were already growing heavy.

  Noah stood, pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed and gently covering her. “Get some rest,” he murmured quietly.

  Vivian, still shaken from their earlier closeness, avoided looking directly at him. “Thanks, Noah,” she mumbled softly, closing her eyes.

  He didn’t reply, silently moving to pack up the medical supplies. Vivian’s breathing steadied behind him, slow and even, signaling sleep had finally taken her. Noah paused briefly, glancing over his shoulder at her resting form, the gentle rise and fall of her chest marking a rare moment of peace amid the chaos they were tangled in.

  He found himself lingering on the brief moment when her hand had touched his face—unexpected, gentle. The sensation of her fingertips brushing softly against his skin had felt intimate, leaving him momentarily frozen, unable to react. Had he leaned into it, would she have let her hand linger there? He imagined himself leaning closer, softly pressing his lips against hers, hesitant at first, testing her response. When she didn’t pull away, he imagined deepening the kiss, tasting her with slow intent, his tongue exploring hers, pulling her in until there was nothing between them but breath and desire.

  He forced the thought away, partly because right now they had other things to worry about, but also because when it happened, he needed to be certain. He needed to know that Vivian felt it just as deeply, just as irrevocably, as he did.

  With quiet resolve, Noah turned away, methodically returning to packing up the medical supplies.