Mia Ginger couldn't sit still on the bed and paced back and forth in the room.
Suddenly, she heard hurried footsteps outside the door.
She turned to see Louis Cox standing at the door.
On a March day, he wore a T-shirt and jeans, with a black leather jacket draped over, unzipped. He cradled Maeve in one arm, looking both disheveled and tranquil.
Tranquil because of his gaze, disheveled because...
Mia Ginger's gaze fell on his hanging arm. She bit her lip but said nothing.
The sleeve of the leather jacket had been cut off halfway, as well as the T-shirt underneath, exposing his muscled half-arm wrapped thickly in gauze. At some point, the white gauze had turned red, which was quite alarming.
"What happened to your arm?" Mia Ginger looked at him, asking softly.
"It's nothing." Louis Cox tried to smile but couldn't, and he sat on the chair holding Maeve.
From morning to night, this day had truly been dangerous.
