I stared at it, horrified. "Alex..." My voice wavered, barely above a whisper. "Have you been running around carryingme with that?"
He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. "It's not as bad as it looks," he muttered, far too casually for someone in his condition.
"Not as bad?" I shot back, my voice climbing as panic crept in. "Alex, that looks broken!"
"It's not broken," he said sharply, though the tight clench of his jaw betrayed him. Pain flickered across his face for the briefest moment before he masked it again. "Just... let it go."
But how could I? The sight of his injury, the weight of what he had done despite it, was impossible to ignore.
"It looks broken," I insisted, the words spilling out before I could stop them.
He turned his head toward me, his expression eerily calm but laced with unmistakable annoyance. "Even if it is," he said, his voice slow and deliberate, "what exactly do you propose we do about it? You got a spare set of crutches stashed somewhere?"
