He cursed under his breath, something harsh in a language no one had heard him use outside of combat.
He hated this—seeing her like this. Kaya, who was usually so controlled, so composed, now reduced to this vulnerable, hurting mess.
"You're not allowed to scare me like that," he said, his tone half-joking, half-broken as he placed a light kiss on her forehead. "You know I hate witch doctors. This is worse."
He reached into his pouch, rummaging through useless trinkets he carried around for fun—stones, string, stolen berries—and finally stilled. No herbs. No painkillers. Nothing useful.
Veer looked down at her again. He'd never felt more helpless.
And yet, for once, he didn't speak nonsense. He just stayed by her side, his hand gently cradling hers, waiting.
Protecting.
Just in case the pain got worse before it got better.
if Kaya had still been the same woman from before, Veer would've rushed her straight to the witch doctor without a second thought.
But he wasn't a fool.
