Ethan's eyes sharpened suddenly, like knives left out in the sun too long. He stared at Anya for a moment. The murderous vibe flashed and disappeared, but he still felt it. Totally.
"Wait… you wanna kill me?" His voice sliced through the air like a cold butter knife. Dangerous, sure, but… oddly melodic.
Anya glanced lazily. "Don't care."
Her hands? Blood everywhere. Not a small cut—think millions. One more? Meh, no big deal.
Ethan squinted. Towering over her, nose almost brushing hers. Their breaths mingled—tiny, sweaty symphony.
"But, hey, I could end you right now," he muttered. Dangerous? Yeah. But kinda smooth, like vinyl records on a rainy day.
Anya stayed calm. Back straight. Even hurt. Like carved by some drill-sergeant artist.
"You can try," she said, no fear. Maybe a spark of "bring it on."
Their eyes locked. Black-and-white gaze. No retreat, no fear. Nada.
Ethan straightened, but still looming. The kind that makes small animals nervous.
She frowned. "I'm leaving."
"You… woman… can't you be gentler?" He realized mid-sentence that sounded dumb. Glanced, lingered a bit, smirked. "Actually… you're not even a woman yet."
Anya raised an eyebrow. Always talks like this. Gentle? Whatever.
Noticing his disdain, she looked at her chest seriously. "Still growing. Will happen."
Ethan blinked. "…ok then."
Corner of his mouth twitched. She added, "Really."
He stared. Hard. Like he rescued a cosmic alien. Heat. Strange heat.
"I'm leaving," Anya said, pulling a syringe from her arm.
"You leave like that… do you want to survive?" Cold, angry. "Do you know how badly you're hurt?"
Anya's face stayed chill. Not hostile. "I won't die. Mostly healed. I have to go back. Early, less trouble later."
Eyes locked on… whatever. He moved. A little.
Ethan tossed clothing. Wrapped like a mummy. "You can put this on?"
Anya frowned. Thought. "Yeah."
Corner of his mouth lifted. "Put it on, I'll let you go. Else… door or no door, estate's trap."
Her eyes calm. Estate outside—people, dangers, unknown. If he didn't let her leave, even leaving room… estate, maybe house, nope.
She looked at torn clothes. Mostly bandages. Tore them off, tossed. Pink underlayer flared like a tiny neon warning sign.
Ethan froze. Turned. "Exposing yourself… shame, girl?"
Twenty years of calm? Wrecked. By a mini-human.
She hesitated. Combat suit, bulletproof unders—nothing shameful. Looked down. Pink layer. Ok.
He turned back. Eyes on pink.
"Turn around!" she snapped.
Change in her face. His eyes flickered. "I won't."
Her cheeks pink. Controlled quickly.
Bit her lip. Smart. Second life. Can't waste it.
Glaring. Clothing. Pain. Bandages. Tug. Pull. Half on.
He watched. Determination. No groans. Pain ignored.
Brow deepened.
"All set. Leaving now." Loose clothes made her tiny frame even tinier.
"Okay," Ethan said. Promise kept.
She got off bed. Stumbled. Leg fracture. Fell. I mean… gravity still works.
He watched. Cold.
She got up. Straight. Step by step. Door. No glance at him.
Sunlight through floor-to-ceiling. Shadow on Ethan's face. Weirdly sexy? Evil? Not sure.
"What's your name?" The voice… who said it?
Anya hesitated. Limped. Stopped.
"Ye Weiguo." Polite. Full name.
Ethan's lips cracked.
She walked. Back straight. Focus.
He watched. Picked up phone. "Let her leave."
"Yes, Master."
Oh, forgot to mention—the road looked like… hell, I dunno, like someone tried to pave a war.