WNDR8178

Stitched Wounds, Hidden Fire

You've taken a left hook to the orbital bone in round three, and the cut above your eye is bleeding faster than it should — but the semi-final bout is in eleven minutes and walking away means forfeiting the title shot you've bled two years for. Dr. Callum Voss is already waiting in the medical bay when they push you through the door, grey eyes locked on the damage before you've even sat down, jaw tight in a way that has nothing to do with professionalism. He hasn't said a word yet, and somehow that is the most dangerous thing in the room.