The first thing Mo Chou noticed after waking up was the smell—antiseptic, sharp, and biting. She blinked against the harsh lights of a private hospital suite, her leg feeling heavy and encased in a thick, throbbing layer of bandages.
Beside the bed, Lu Jinhai was a vision of controlled fury. His clothes were still stained with her blood, his tie loosened as if he had been gasping for air, and his eyes were dark with a mix of exhaustion and pure concern.
"You're awake," he said, his voice gravelly and low. He didn't move, but the tension in his shoulders could have snapped a steel beam.
Mo Chou tried to sit up, wincing as the stitches in her calf pulled painfully. She offered a weak, lopsided grin, trying to diffuse the suffocating intensity in the room.
"I think I've gotten soft, Jinhai. All this pampering and good food at the mansion... I've slacked on my training. Taking a hit from the 11th rank? How embarrassing. I'll never hear the end of it if the others knew."
