Chapter 3

The guy had been out cold for a full three days.

During those three days, Molly killed the hen she'd been saving for the New Year's celebration, made soup, and fed it to him, spoonful by spoonful.

Jennifer had to put off her plan to go to town for medicine—the snow was so heavy that the mountain path was completely blocked, and there was no way to leave.

Jennifer's mother's cough had gotten worse, but her spirits were actually better than they'd been in the past few days.

"Mom, don't tire yourself out. Let me handle it," Jennifer said.

"You don't get it," Molly replied, shaking her head. "His injuries are way too serious. He can't skip a single dose. My medicine... isn't urgent."

Jennifer stayed quiet, just lowered her head, and brought the freshly brewed medicine over to the bed.

On the evening of the third day, the man finally woke up.

Jennifer was at the stove cooking oatmeal when she heard a muffled groan from the bed. She turned and locked eyes with him.

They were still so sharp, so bright, like knives.

"You're awake," she said, standing up and walking over.

The man stared at her, his eyes flicking from her face to over her shoulder, then back again.

"Where am I?" he asked.

His voice was so hoarse it barely sounded human, as if he'd forgotten how to speak.

"Blue Stone Village," Jennifer replied. "My home."

The man was silent for a moment, as if trying to piece something together.

"Did you save me?" he asked.

"My mom saved you," Jennifer said. "I just dragged you inside."

The man's lips twitched, like he almost smiled but stopped short.

"Thank you," he said.

"No need," Jennifer said, turning to get the medicine. "Drink this."

When she came back with the bowl, the man was already sitting up, leaning against the bed. His face was ghostly pale, but his eyes were steady, locked onto her.

Jennifer handed him the bowl.

He reached out to take it, his hand was shaking.

Jennifer noticed his hands were covered in scars, and his knuckles were rough with layers of calluses—marks left by years of wielding blades.

The bowl trembled in his hands, causing a few drops of medicine to spill out.

Jennifer frowned and took the bowl back.

"Come on, open up," she said.

The man looked a bit stunned for a moment.

Jennifer didn't bother with his hesitation. She scooped up a spoonful of medicine and brought it right to his lips.

He stared at the spoon, then at Jennifer, and finally parted his lips.

After feeding him spoonful by spoonful, Jennifer set the bowl down.

"Do you want some more?" she asked.

"No, I'm good. That's enough," he replied.

Jennifer nodded and got up to take the bowl away.

"Hey—" he called out.

She stopped in her tracks.

"I'm Geoffrey Brown," he said, his tone polite. "May I know your name, miss?"

Jennifer turned back and glanced at him.

"Jennifer Bennett," she replied.

Then she walked out with the bowl in her hand.

Behind her, Geoffrey leaned back against the bed, watching her back as she left. Then he slowly closed his eyes.