Proximity, Breath Intertwined

Cynthia unwillingly chased after him. Just as she rushed to the staircase, her wrist was firmly grasped. "Don't chase."

Tristan frowned, examining her with a mix of concern and nervousness in his eyes. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

"No." Cynthia's eyes flickered slightly. She raised her hand, casually running her fingers through her hair.

However, Tristan had noticed all these small movements. He grabbed Cynthia's chin, using his fingertips to move aside the strands of hair around her neck.

Instinctively, Cynthia tried to dodge, but Tristan said, "Don't move!"

Two brief words, sounding like a command yet carrying a touch of indulgence, making it impossible for anyone to resist him.

As the strands of hair were moved aside, the wound was revealed without reservation. Blood oozed from the wound, flowing along the curve of her neck.

Tristan's brow furrowed, and he grabbed Cynthia's arm, leading her into the opposite apartment.