Caym's fingers brushed against Ingrid's palm, a subtle bump catching his attention. Curiosity piqued, he turned her hand over, his gaze falling upon the slender healing scar. His brow furrowed in concern as he studied the healed wound, his mind racing with questions.
"My love," he began, his voice gentle yet filled with concern, "where did you get this?"
A soft smile graced Ingrid's lips as she met his gaze with innocence. "Ah, I almost forgot to tell you," she replied, her tone light as she shrugged nonchalantly. "I made a blood compact with Christine."
Caym raised his brow at her casual response. "A blood compact?" he echoed.
Ingrid nodded, her smile widening as she recalled the memory. "Yes, it's a tradition in my mother's tribe," she explained. "We swore to always stand by each other."
Caym sighed softly as he looked at her, a mixture of concern and exasperation evident in his gaze. "Do you enjoy hurting yourself that much?" he asked.
