Faye Vaughn quietly watched Liam Linden.
He was tall, yet gaunt—the kind of thinness that told of long-term neglect.
A long, bloody scratch ran down his arm, likely from when he'd scraped it climbing out the window before the hospital's men's restroom exploded.
He was applying ointment with one hand. The blood on the wound had already dried, and it looked painful to clean, but he didn't so much as flinch, treating it as if it were a piece of rotting flesh rather than his own body.
Faye Vaughn got to her feet, quietly approached him, and stood behind him.
Liam Linden didn't look back at her.
Suddenly, Faye Vaughn wrapped her arms around him from behind.
Liam Linden jolted, his whole body going abnormally rigid. He forced the words out through clenched teeth. "What are you doing?"
Faye Vaughn laughed softly. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
She pressed her palm against his abdomen.
Though he was tall and thin, a lean layer of muscle naturally defined his abdomen.
