Dave's face had gone noticeably pale, his strength clearly fading as blood continued to seep from his wound. He was reaching his limit, held together only by sheer willpower that kept him conscious and talking.
And yet, Dave wasn't entirely wrong.
In the chaos earlier, Zhane had used his hand to brace himself without noticing the shattered glass scattered across the ground. A sharp shard had pierced straight through his palm, but with adrenaline coursing through his system, the pain had barely registered.
Even now, his grip hadn't weakened, masking the severity of the injury. But that didn't mean it wasn't serious. If left untreated, it could compromise the very precision and flexibility his profession demanded.
Worse, if the glass had damaged a nerve, it could affect the entire function of his hand, something no surgeon could afford to lose.
