"There's only one sniper left, and I'm out of options. I've used everything I could think of." Joyce leaned against a large rock, casting a cold glance at Clint. "But I don't think you'll die. They say, a scourge lasts a thousand years."
Clint remained silent.
"I need to rest." Joyce leaned back, stretching her legs to find a comfortable position.
The sunlight brought a slight warmth, and for the first time, Joyce had the energy to take care of herself. She glanced down and realized that during the night it wasn't noticeable, but now she was practically in tatters. Her long pants had been torn by the bushes, exposing her fair skin. She had discarded her jacket earlier, and her inner clothes were also ripped. The amount of fabric left on her was minimal.
In contrast, Clint looked much more presentable.
Joyce cursed inwardly. Damn it, this man hadn't done much but still managed to keep his elegance. What a joke.
Noticing Clint's gaze on her, she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest to cover herself.
Feeling uncomfortable, she snapped, "Don't look at me. Turn your face away."
Clint averted his gaze; he had no intention of taking advantage of her. She was just too captivating to ignore.
He silently took off his jacket to give it to her. Although it was also torn and stained with blood on the sleeves, it was better than what she had.
Before he could hand it over, Joyce stopped him. "I don't want your clothes. Don't make any noise."
She thought to herself that they only needed to wait for rescue now. If... she didn't want Luther to see her wearing another man's clothes when he arrived. It wasn't about misunderstandings; she simply didn't want it.
Not even a piece of clothing should tie her to another man.
Clint's fingers stiffened; he could sense her meaning.
She despised him; she avoided him; she wanted nothing to do with him-not even a piece of clothing.
His eyes dimmed, and Clint didn't insist further. He put his jacket back on. He had been shot last night; although the bleeding had stopped, he had lost too much blood. The sunlight on his pale face made him dizzy.
He struggled to stay conscious.
After a while, Joyce suddenly opened her eyes.
"The sound of a drone." Her voice was excited. If it was Luther's drone hovering nearby, it meant they were about to be found.
Soon enough, the sniper's position would also be detected.
Clint heard it too and looked up at the sky.
The drone had found them; the helicopter couldn't be far behind.
He retrieved the satellite communicator he had discarded earlier.
It had been out of signal range before but now started making static noises.
Joyce glanced at the satellite communicator in Clint's hand. "Is the signal back?"
Before Clint could answer, a voice came through the communicator.
"Your Highness, Crown Prince."
It was Watanabe's voice.
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