Rosamund
Julian's fist connected with Nevan's jaw, hard enough to snap his head sideways and send the mask skidding half off his face.
Nevan quickly covered the exposed side of his face with his hand, and for a moment, nobody moved. Fanny gasped from the doorway; the nurse's tray clattered to the floor, glass vials rolling in every direction.
Nevan straightened, slowly adjusting the mask back into place as though he had all the time in the world, and when he turned back to face Julian, there was no fury in his eyes. Instead, amusement danced in them.
Blood welled at the corner of his mouth, but he didn't wipe it away.
"Feel better?" Nevan asked, his voice low and carrying no mockery this time.
Julia's chest was heaving, and his face was twisted with fury. His knuckles were split and reddening, his fists still clenched at his sides, his whole body coiled as though he expected Nevan to retaliate.
But he didn't.
