Edmund had spent his entire life as a doctor, witnessing the cycle of life and death up close. With all his family members gone, he didn't exactly pity Stuart. Instead, he found a grim recognition in meeting someone whose life seemed even more cursed than his own.
Stuart rose, determination in his voice, "Let's head out now, we can make it."
Edmund retorted with his usual sarcasm, "Now? You're not just unlucky; you're out of your mind. Heading out in the dead of night? What, planning a meeting with the Grim Reaper? Come here and let me tend to those wounds first, or you might not even make it past the doorstep."
Stuart glanced at his bandaged wounds but didn't refuse. He had been standing guard at the door for two days; this was the first time he entered the cabin. His body was battered, and he was in poor shape, but he stepped inside without hesitation. It wasn't out of trust; he knew if Edmund had wanted to harm him, his toxicology skills would have made it easy in these remote mountains without the need for an elaborate plan.
The warmth from the fireplace enveloped him as he entered the cabin. Edmund may have been tired of life, but he hadn't resorted to self-harm. Stuart shed his parka, unwrapping the tightly bound bandages. Edmund began grinding some herbs, pausing to glance at Stuart. That look made him pause, and he added more herbs to the mortar.
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