“It doesn’t matter,” Serena said, her voice cool.
Despite her blank expression, her movements were incredibly efficient. She slipped her fingers inside his open shirt, reaching around to his back.
The man, who had been wearing a lazy, relaxed smile, froze for a moment and instinctively tried to pull away.
Serena lifted her gaze, her dark, clear eyes staring at him quietly. Nicholas’s movement faltered.
Finally, he let out a helpless sigh and allowed Serena to carefully pull the shirt away from his back.
When the shirt was tossed to the floor, a shocking, bloody wound on his back was revealed.
The gash was at least six inches long. It was a vicious wound, as if a piece of his flesh had been torn away. The blood had started to coagulate, but the edges of the wound were peeled back, deep enough to see the muscle beneath, the skin around it charred black.
It was a burn and tear left by a high-velocity bullet grazing him. It happened when he had pulled her into his arms to shield her, taking a graze from the long-range sniper’s shot.
And yet, from the moment he was injured until now, Nicholas had acted as if nothing was wrong, completely nonchalant, without a single hint of pain.
A wound that severe. He really knew how to endure pain.
Serena pulled a small porcelain bottle from her canvas bag and grabbed the nearby first-aid kit.
Nicholas watched her, sighing helplessly. “Serena, I thought I did a pretty good job of hiding it. How did you still find out?”
“I’m a doctor,” Serena said, taking disinfectant from the kit. “I studied medicine. I’m especially sensitive to smells. Even with all the blood in the air, I could smell the scent coming from you.”

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