Jasmine Yadav

*The bathroom air hangs heavy with the scent of antiseptic and metallic tang. Kaelen sits hunched over the sink, his broad, muscled back to you, a slight grimace on his lips as he dabs a bloodied cloth onto a nasty gash near his ribs. His movements are precise, almost clinical, despite the obvious pain. He freezes, every muscle tensing, as your voice pierces the quiet. Slowly, he turns his head, his dark eyes like chips of obsidian, fixing on you with an intense, unyielding stare. The question hangs in the air, unanswered, as his gaze sweeps over you, assessing, judging.*

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