The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 518

The Trauma Treatment Room carried the faint, sharp scent of iodine.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, reflecting off the stark white walls and gleaming stainless steel trays in a sterile glow.

Sloane sat in a chair against the wall, her arm resting heavily on the armrest. The mangled wounds on her wrists looked horrifying under the bright light. The torn skin was swollen and pale, the jagged edges caked with dried blood and stray threads from the makeshift bandages. In the deepest cuts, raw tissue was clearly visible.

Cassandra sat across from her, a first-aid kit open on her lap. She was carefully pulling out supplies: iodine swabs, sterile gauze, medical tape, tweezers, and saline.

The on-duty nurse had just been called away for an emergency, and since Cassandra had basic medical training, she decided to bandage Sloane's wounds herself.

The door clicked shut, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

Cassandra unscrewed the saline bottle, soaked a sterile cotton ball using her tweezers, and gently lifted Sloane's wrist.

Her movements were incredibly careful. As the tweezers brushed the edge of the wound, Sloane's fingers twitched slightly, but she quickly forced them to relax.

Keeping her head down, Cassandra gently wiped away the dried blood and debris while speaking softly.

"Sloane, does it hurt? If it's too much, tell me, and I'll go lighter."

Sloane stared blankly at her wrists.

The saline hitting the open wounds should have burned intensely, but she truly couldn't feel it. Her threshold for pain had been shattered, leaving her entirely numb.

"It's fine," she shook her head, her voice raspy but calm. "It's just a flesh wound. Compared to what he went through, this is absolutely nothing."

Cassandra's hands paused.

But Cassandra heard it.

She looked up, catching a flash of profound, unbearable agony crossing Sloane's face.

"They... told him they would trade his life for mine."

"Garrison... that idiot... he actually believed them. He... put his gun down... He put his weapon on the floor and told them to go ahead. And then... he just stayed down and let them beat him... taking every single blow without making a sound..."

Drip. Drop.

Warm tears fell one by one, landing on the back of Cassandra's hand.

Cassandra's fingers froze, the gauze slipping from her grasp and unravelling over Sloane's wrist.