Her touch froze me in place, a flicker of fear igniting within, though I knew not who this woman was or why she had saved me.
I could sense her formidable presence, a strength typically attributed to men, evident from how ruthlessly she dealt with the thugs last night.
Now, inadvertently, I had crossed a line with her—though unintentionally, the thought of her possibly seeking retribution loomed over me.
But the fear in my heart vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
After all, I had been ready to give up on life; what did I have to lose now that I was living on borrowed time?
With this realization, my fear dissipated completely, and I turned to face her calmly.
I expected to meet a gaze cold with anger, but instead, I caught a glimpse of shyness in her eyes.
Though she tried to mask it with composure, the bashfulness was unmistakable.
Her demure embarrassment didn't embarrass me; rather, it deepened my confusion.