Soren hesitated only a second.
Finn's quiet "Do it, doctor" had been directed at him, yet the younger man still refused to look at Rowan. The meaning was clear enough: stay, but do not touch.
Soren gave a short nod.
"Turn onto your uninjured side," he said, voice even. "Face the wall if it helps."
Finn obeyed, moving stiffly. The moment his back was to them, Soren worked quickly and with clinical precision. He eased the waistband of Finn's trousers down just far enough to expose the wound on his hip — a shallow puncture, already bruising, a thin line of blood still welling.
Rowan remained standing a few steps away, arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes fixed on the floor. He did not look. He did not speak.
Soren cleaned the wound with practiced efficiency, applied a salve, and bound it with a neat bandage. The entire process took less than two minutes.
"Done," he said, already pulling the fabric back into place.
