Travis Miller slowly lowered his gaze, staring at her. His dark pupils fixed on her face, deep and cold.
No expression, yet she inexplicably felt the chill and menace emanating from his towering figure.
"Dirty?"
Abigail Hemsworth looked down, repeating, "Yes, I just changed into a new dress; I don't want it immediately covered in stains."
Travis Miller's brows furrowed slightly, and Abigail Hemsworth urged again.
"Put me down."
At this moment, the doctor, who had been silent and observing, suddenly spoke up.
"Mr. Miller, shouldn't your arm be treated first? I see there's blood on your sleeve..."
Travis Miller's eyes suddenly flickered, the icy cold gaze fixed on Abigail Hemsworth's face suddenly carried a hint of mild amusement.
When he spoke again, his typically indifferent and low voice also contained a trace of delight.
"...It shouldn't have gotten on your clothes."
Abigail Hemsworth frowned, "I don't like the smell on you!"
