The blonde woman who came in was beautiful, with a hint of pride in her steps, and her legs exposed with confidence. From her attire, she should not be lacking money. Or she might be from a good background. Still, there was the possibility that she was creating a night persona for herself after saving for a long time, to escape from a hard life and get a taste of another one.
The last thought, however, didn't persist, as he felt the inherent elegance she was radiating. That was not something that could be bred or faked easily.
As he looked at her, he remembered that her hair was of a different color when he saved her that night. She had it a brown color back then.
She smiled at him when she saw him turn to her, and placed the basket of fruits she brought on the table at the side:
"You are awake. I brought you some things. It is not much, but with that you can avoid the food of the hospital, or at least have a change of taste."
"Thanks."
Daemon also showed a smile. It was not really warm, but at least not totally distant. He remembered what the doctor had said about someone taking care of him, and added:
"Also, thank you for your care."
The woman looked surprised, but she took things in stride. After all, she was showing care by coming to see him and bringing him a gift. She gazed at Daemon who had turned back to the night view once again, and spoke:
"Actually, I'm the one who should thank you. Without your intervention, I might have died that night."
"I only did my job as a soldier."
Cynthia was a little surprised, but the information made her experience a shift in the amount of sincerity she was putting into the interaction.
Her smile became more sincere, adopting a softer edge:
"All the more reason for me to express my thanks. Our first meeting had been hectic, so we didn't get to know each other. I'm Cynthia, Cynthia Harsh."
"Daemon Peak."
Daemon looked at her beautiful face as she smiled and felt the difference caused by his status. At the same time, his nerves that were more relaxed than ever in many years made him feel the brightness of life for a moment.
It was fleeting, however, as the shadows of what he had been avoiding to think about cast themselves over.
He showed none of what was happening in his mind, and took the slim hand Cynthia stretched forward. He responded with a less distant smile of his own, the most sincere toward anyone other than his teammates in a long time, even if it was slight.
As Cynthia held his hand, she brought herself closer and leaned forward to leave a kiss on his right cheek.
Seeing his question in his dark eyes, she smiled, and explained:
"You saved my life after all, I can't be insincere in showing my gratitude."
What Daemon failed to see was another beautiful woman with brown hair that witnessed the scene through the door left ajar. And seen from her perspective, it had looked even more intimate.
He didn't hear the inaudible sound of heartbreak, as she turned around left. She was more simply dressed than Cynthia, and seemed to have been lacking some sleep as her eyes were surrounded by dark circles. Despite that, no part of her circumstances could hide her natural beauty.
Just before leaving, her face had been a mix of relief, shock and disappointment.
"Are you okay? Should I call the doctor?"
Cynthia asked in worry when she saw Daemon shake his head all of a sudden.
She turned to take a look at the back where his sight had stopped a moment ago, but saw nothing in the corridor beyond the door that had been left ajar.
"No need, I'm fine. I'm still struggling to get my bearings, that's all."
"It's normal, you have been in a coma for months after all."
"Hm."
"I will let you rest then."
"Hm."
"Don't forget to eat some of the fruits I brought you."
She got closer and let her lips touch his only exposed cheek once again, before taking her handbag and leaving with a sashay.
He followed her with his eyes until she left, before he turned back to the night view with a light smile, and a more relaxed expression, one with less burden than his previous one.
The expression didn't last, turning neutral soon. He thought back to the hallucination he had just had. That only showed how much his love for her made him long to see her after six years apart, but was he worthy?
He lowered his head to look at his hand. Not because of how bloody it was, but because of the letter it had been used to write on a day of January 2017.
After a while, he went to the bathroom to relieve himself and stopped before the mirror after he was done.
His hair didn't look like one that had remained uncut for months.
He touched the bandaged part of his face lightly, before taking off his hospital clothes and getting a better look at his body.
The previously smooth lines of muscles were only a shadow of themselves now. And he was certain to have lost weight too.
The fading scars did not surprise him. Only remnants of his last task, proof of the life he just left.
After that, he used his hand to feel all the parts of his body, massaging himself to promote blood circulation, but also to check for any addition to his body.
Not finding anything unsatisfactory, he returned to the room and checked his wallet, before climbing on the bed once again.
With nothing to do, a shut-eye was the best solution to pass the time.
With controlled breathing, Daemon soon put himself to sleep, but it seemed that it was not a calm and restful one. He soon had sweat on his forehead, and he became restless on the bed. Despite that however, he didn't wake up, and he seemed imprisoned by the nightmare he was having.
His breathing that turned a little hurried was the only sound in the dim room that the pilot light prevented from falling into total darkness.
Suddenly, the door to the room was slowly pushed open without a sound, and a shadow came in. It stopped in place and looked around to get its bearings. Before long, it resumed movement, and approached the sleeping patient.
The dim light in the room made the shadow lose a bit of its dark cloak. From what was visible, like the shoes, the pants and the silhouette, the shadow was a man. He was not tall, just of average height, and he seemed to be wearing a suit, from the cuff that appeared in the light.
He stopped beside the bed, and rested his gaze on the restless Daemon. After a moment, he seemed to have decided what to do, before he slowly brought his hand forward, making it inch closer and closer to the sleeping man.
The dim light, the defenseless target, the shadow, and the hand that might have been an envoy of death. One could only have goosebumps faced with the eerie scene.