Page 69 of Mercy Written in Blood

"Lighten once he is stable. I want a neurological assessment given the head injury."

Akiko removed her gloves.

"You should sleep."

Renji looked at the clock.

"You said that yesterday."

"It remains true."

"There are other tunnel casualties."

"The other teams have them."

"I need to review them."

"You need to sit down before your body remembers gravity."

Renji stepped away from the operating table.

"I am fine."

Akiko looked at the blood on his scrubs.

"Some of that is yours."

He followed her gaze. A thin line of red crossed his forearm where a damaged instrument packet had cut through his glove during the operation. He had not felt it.

"It is superficial."

"You didn't notice."

"I was occupied."

"You are always occupied."

Renji removed the glove and wrapped gauze around the small cut.

"Problem solved."

Akiko watched him.

"One day, someone will say that to you, and you're going to realise how irritating it is."

"I doubt it."

"I know."

She left to update the intensive care team. Renji looked back at Haruki. Without the constant movement of the trauma bay, without the blood and banter, he seemed younger. Not young. But younger than the reputation that had arrived with him. The lines around his eyes suggested he smiled often. Or pretended to.

Renji had recognised loneliness in patients for centuries. It had many forms. Haruki's wore expensive clothing, carried responsibility and made jokes while bleeding to death.

Renji pulled the blanket higher over his chest. A meaningless gesture. A nurse could have done it. He did not examine why he had.

Haruki woke in intensive care eight hours later. Renji was reviewing the latest blood results at the foot of the bed when the monitor changed — not enough to trigger an alarm, enough to tell him awareness was returning.

Haruki's brow tightened. His fingers moved against the sheet. Renji stepped closer.