He went to the fourth-floor bedroom to see Norton Abyss, left after a few minutes, and didn't disturb him again.
Fiona Schmidt sat alone at the bedside. The air conditioning was on, maintaining a constant temperature of twenty-eight degrees, so the quilt was pulled back, exposing the wound to the air.
The bedside table was filled with medical swabs and gauze, and every time blood oozed from the wound, she would wipe it away with a swab or gauze.
Her movements were extremely gentle, appearing cautious, fearing she might hurt him or injure him again.
"Why aren't you waking up? What must I do to help you!?..." Fiona muttered to herself, her eyes bloodshot. She felt really uncomfortable now, her chest tight, as if she might fail to take a breath any moment. If this continued, she would suffocate!
The man remained motionless, his handsome features showing no change, like a stone sculpture, except for the subtle breathing, completely still.
