Drip.
Drip...
The sound of blood dripping echoed through the space.
Both Sandra and Dora appeared before him, their faces twisted in horror as they rushed forward.
But then... they stopped.
Their eyes darted to the source, expecting a fatal wound, but it was just a small cut on his chest.
The real problem was his wrist—half-severed, hanging unnaturally in the air, blood steadily oozing down.
Dora and Sandra exchanged glances before turning their worried eyes to Aether. But instead of screaming in pain, as anyone would in this situation, he simply wore a puzzled expression. After a brief pause, he let out a sigh and spoke,
"You could have told me before, right?"
Dora pressed her fingers against her forehead, feeling a mixture of guilt and frustration.
Of course, she could have warned him.
She should have.
But everything had happened so fast that even she was caught off guard.
