Christon's nonchalant demeanor persisted as he methodically unraveled the bandage roll, the fabric tearing with a swift and deliberate motion. "Fist your palm," he instructed, his tone revealing an ease in handling injuries. With calculated efficiency, he skillfully bound the bandage around Gloria's elbow and wrist, securing the wound within its confines.
A smirk played on Christon's lips as he tapped the injury, his eyes locking onto Gloria's. "You never asked me who I was. So, practically, it ain't a lie, Hun," he remarked, a hint of amusement coloring his words. His fingers, tracing the pulse beneath the bandage, spoke of a familiarity with the ebb and flow of life coursing through the veins beneath.
"No..." Gloria shook her head, her eyes searching for an explanation that eluded her grasp.
