The strong winds and rain had stopped after midnight. Sienna stood in her doorway, breathing lightly, looking at the man she had pulled inside.
His body felt weighty, much more than she thought it would, and moving backwards with him felt like trying to move a huge rock.
Water fell from his clothes onto the wooden floor. His shirt was ripped in several spots, completely wet with rain and blood.
There was a lot of blood.
Sienna swallowed with difficulty.
What am I doing here?
The smart part of her, the little bit that was still logical, told her to leave him outside, to act like she hadn't seen him, to close and lock the door really well.
But she always followed her heart and not what she was scared of.
"Hey," she said softly, bending down next to him.
"Can you hear what I'm saying?"
There was no reply.
His eyes were shut, He was breathing strangely, not deeply, which made her start to panic. She wasn't trained as a doctor.
She never had the opportunity to learn medicine. But she knew some basic things.
She knew enough to realize that he would die tonight if she didn't help him.
Her fingers lightly touched his shoulder, and she quickly moved her hand away.
His muscles were tight even though he was unconscious, feeling hard under her fingers, like a body shaped by many years of fighting and trying to stay alive.
He seemed like someone who had danger inside him, someone who was completely defined by it.
But now, he was lying on her sofa, unable to help himself.
Sienna shut her eyes. "Don't die here in my house. Please. I can't deal with that."
Her voice almost broke as she said the last word.
She stood up and rushed to the kitchen, grabbing the small metal box that she kept hidden under the counter.
It was her "medical kit," although it wasn't much: just some bandages, disinfectant, a needle and thread, nothing special.
It was not nearly enough for what she thought he needed.
When she came back to where he was, she hesitated.
The last sound of the storm echoed in the distance, and the cabin felt very small with him inside, his quiet presence filling up every space.
"Okay," she said quietly, kneeling again. "I'm going to help you. So you need to… I don't know. Stay alive because of it."
Her hands shook above his shirt. She didn't want to touch him any more than she needed to.
It wasn't about being proper; it was simply fear. But his chest was barely rising, and she knew that she didn't have time to doubt herself.
She cut the wet shirt open.
She gasped and couldn't breathe for a moment.
He had scrapes from bullets, deep cuts that looked like he'd been dragged through sharp metal while being shot at, and dark purple bruises across his ribs.
No matter who he was, he had been badly hurt before he ended up at her door.
"God…" Sienna whispered, her throat feeling tight.
"What happened to you?"
And why was this happening here? Why was it happening to me?
She carefully cleaned each injury with steady fingers, although her hands kept shaking.
He made a hissing sound, a soft, rough noise, when she pushed disinfectant on a bad cut close to his shoulder, but he stayed asleep. He didn't move again.
It made her feel uneasy.
A man like him should have quickly woken up, grabbed her arm, and demanded to know where he was.
But instead, he kept going in and out of awareness, quietly saying broken words she couldn't understand.
At one moment, his fingers moved slightly near hers.
Sienna pulled back without thinking, her heart beating fast in her chest. But his hand just fell back weakly against the cushion.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, her voice quiet.
"I traveled all this way to stay away from this. To stay away from people like you."
She didn't know what "people like him" meant, exactly, dangerous? hunted? violent?, but she just knew it deep down.
He wasn't just passing through. He wasn't someone who had simply taken a wrong turn.
And she… she was running away, hiding from a world full of scary things.
Sienna stitched the worst of his cuts, wiping sweat from her face every so often.
She had learned the basics from stolen dreams, books she would read late at night when she was little, wishing she could become a doctor instead of a Moretti.
It was strange, in a way. Life had never let her help anyone get better. Only to watch people die.
Tonight, she was doing the opposite.
Hours went by as her hands slowly moved, cleaning and bandaging. Her shoulders ached from being tense.
Her stomach rumbled, but she didn't pay attention. The lamp's light was getting dangerously low.
But still, she kept working.
When she finally finished the last stitch, her fingers felt numb.
She leaned back and looked at him, this stranger brought into her life by a storm.
He didn't seem relaxed. Even when he was unconscious, his jaw was tight, and his body was tense, ready to move suddenly.
She could feel something strong inside him, something wild and dangerous, like he was made of barely controlled fire.
Sienna breathed out slowly. "You're trouble," she whispered. "A lot of trouble."
She didn't know who she was talking to, him, or herself.
She pulled a blanket over him, even though his body gave off enough heat to make the air feel heavy.
His scent stayed in the air, cedar, smoke, and something noticeably strong.
Gunpowder.
Sienna put her hand on her forehead. Just leave, she told herself. Sleep. Forget about him. In the morning, he'll be gone, and you'll go back to pretending you're safe.
That thought didn't make her feel better.
Eventually she curled up on the old chair across from the sofa.
She felt very tired, making it hard to keep her eyes open even as she tried to stay awake.
The storm outside became a soft rain. Her breathing finally slowed down.
For the first time in a while, she let herself relax.
She wasn't sure if she'd been asleep for a few minutes or many hours.
But she suddenly woke up, and the room was strangely silent. It was too quiet.
The couch was bare.
Sienna quickly stood up and looked at the open doorway. Her heart was beating hard.
The blanket was neatly folded. The wooden floor, which had been wet with water and blood, was now dry.
The only hint he was ever there was the slight dent on the cushion where he had been sitting.
And a smell, faint but still there. Cedar wood. The smell of a gun.
He had left as quietly as he had come. He didn't say goodbye. Not even a spot of blood.
Sienna put her hand on her heart, trying to breathe normally. A shaky feeling of relief came over her.
Then she felt something else.
A strange sadness that she couldn't explain.
She quietly shut the door, resting her head on the wood.
"This is better," she said softly.
She had always wanted a calm life. A life free from fighting. A life without blood.
But as she returned to the couch, she touched the blanket he had folded with her fingers.
A small part of her wondered if he would have died without her help. Or if he had ever needed her help at all.
She sat down on the couch next to where he had been.
"Whoever you are…" She breathed out nervously.
"I hope I don't ever see you again."
But even as she said it, she knew she didn't mean it.
Be
cause a feeling inside her said the opposite thing.
She rescued someone important.
Someone who would return to her life.
Sometime in the future.
Whether she wanted it or not.