If you don't pay attention, it's hard to notice. Just now, when cleaning up, Mabel Doyle probably overlooked it and didn't see there was still a small piece left.
Furrowing her brow, Mabel sat down, placing her left foot on the bed. She bent over to look at her foot, where the sole was cut, about two to three centimeters, bleeding profusely.
She glanced at the hospital room. The tissues were over by the sofa. Helplessly, she could only tiptoe forward, grabbing the tissues to cover the wound upon reaching the sofa.
Perhaps because of the sudden movement, Mabel was a bit breathless. She stared at her foot, frowning and giving a self-deprecating smile.
She was becoming more and more useless. Since leaving the FBI, her physical condition had deteriorated over the past two years. Just tiptoeing a few meters had her gasping as if she had just run a thousand meters.
