Inside the small infirmary room, the air was quiet, only the faint hum of the sterilizer and the steady tick of the wall clock broke the silence.
Beatrix crossed her arms, watching as Julian slumped heavily onto the bed. He looked utterly spent — his shirt torn, his hair messy, a faint cut still on his cheek.
"You really are a handful," she said flatly, closing the door behind her. "Dragging me in front of all those girls, what were you thinking?"
Julian leaned back, exhaling. "That I'd rather get scolded by you than buried under their noise."
Beatrix's lips twitched. "Flattery won't save you, boy." She grabbed a medical kit from the counter and began tending to his wounds, movements precise and practiced.
Julian watched her quietly for a moment. "You're surprisingly gentle for someone who always looks annoyed."
"Don't mistake efficiency for affection," Beatrix replied, dabbing a cotton pad on his arm, a bit harder than necessary. Julian winced.
