Jack's nonsense was still lingering in the forest when I heard faint footsteps and dog barks in the distance.

I yanked him up from the ground, ignoring his sharp intake of breath as it pulled at his wound, "Can you walk?"


Jack's pale face stretched into a smile that was painful yet still arrogant: "Miss Killer, be gentle."

I frowned—was this the same terrifying Jack Thorne I met on the first day?

"I'm thinking of leaving you here to feed the dogs," I retorted.


Jack grabbed my hand, "There's a cave here that I prepared in advance, just in case. There are weapons and medical supplies inside. We can regroup there first."

"Then let's hurry!"


Following Jack's directions, we trekked along a path almost covered by vegetation.

His breathing grew increasingly labored, and warm blood soaked through the makeshift bandage I had applied, then dampened my clothes at the side.

I could feel the temperature of his body dropping.

I grew increasingly panicked, unable to help saying, "Hang in there, Jack."

"On the left, behind that huge rock covered with vines," he instructed in a low voice, his voice already showing obvious weakness.

I pushed aside the layers of vines and indeed found a narrow entrance. It was pitch black inside, exuding a smell of soil and coolness.

I first carefully placed Jack by the entrance, then crouched down to enter and explore—confirming there was no danger and no other exit, I returned to help him inside.

The cave wasn't large, but it had clearly been modified by humans. Several sealed boxes were stacked in the corner, alongside a simple camp bed and an emergency medical kit.

I helped him sit on the camp bed, then immediately went to search for the medical kit.

He leaned against the cold stone wall, breathing slightly heavily, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

The medical kit was well-stocked. I took out scissors and carefully cut away the blood-soaked sleeve on his arm, revealing the ghastly gunshot wound. The bullet was still embedded inside and needed to be removed.

"This will hurt," I took out rubbing alcohol, gauze, and tweezers, taking a deep breath.

I looked up at him, and he was looking at me, his gaze profound.

"Can I bite on something? Like your lips?" He still had the energy to flirt.

I glared at him, rolled up a clean piece of gauze, and held it to his mouth: "Bite this. No more nonsense."

He obediently opened his mouth to bite it, but his eyes never left me.

I carefully cleaned the blood around the wound with alcohol-soaked cotton. The cool liquid touching his skin made his muscles instantly tense.

I continued working, using tweezers to carefully probe the wound, searching for that damned bullet.

He grunted, saying indistinctly: "Didn't expect Miss Killer to be so professional."

"I've always been professional."

"Indeed, you were quite professional when you fuked me too."

My face reddened, "Can you stop mentioning that, please?"

My hand trembled, and the tweezers hit something hard. He let out a muffled groan, veins bulging on his forehead.

My cheeks burned, forcing myself to concentrate, "Say more nonsense, and I'll leave it in there to get infected and rot!"

I found the bullet. I steadied myself, stabilized my wrist, and pulled hard—

"Ugh!" His body suddenly trembled, biting down hard on the gauze in his mouth, fresh blood gushing out with the removal of the bullet.

I immediately pressed the prepared hemostatic cotton against the wound, while quickly picking up the suturing needle and thread with my other hand.

His gaze remained firmly fixed on me.

Sweat slid from his temple, down his neck, into his open collar, disappearing between the defined muscles of his chest.

After finishing the last stitch and tying it off, I carefully bandaged the wound. Only after completing all this did I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling my own back soaked with sweat.

I was about to raise my hand to wipe the sweat from my brow when my wrist was suddenly grabbed by his uninjured hand.

His palm was scorching hot, his strength surprising.

My heart skipped a beat as I looked at him.

Jack spat out the gauze in his mouth. Due to blood loss and pain, his lips were somewhat pale, but his eyes were like deep abysses, dangerous yet captivating.

"Responsibility," he stared at me, his gaze unfocused, possibly already somewhat delirious, "I... Diana..."

I tried to pull my hand away, but he held it tighter.

My heart was racing uncontrollably, and I tried to remind him in a calm tone: "Jack Thorne, you're injured right now."

"So?" he applied slight pressure, pulling me closer, close enough that I could clearly see the sweat drops on his long lashes, could feel his hot breath on my face, "Shouldn't an injured person's needs be prioritized?"

His gaze slowly moved down, landing on my lips, his intention couldn't be clearer.

I licked my suddenly dry lips; this man was incorrigible... hmm...

"Kiss me... Miss... Killer..."

His forehead pressed against mine, his lips trembling slightly.

My mind went blank, and I ultimately couldn't resist kissing his lips.

As our lips touched, I felt softness and warmth.

The next moment, Jack collapsed in my arms, falling into a deep sleep.

My heartbeat, however, continued to pound, thump, thump, thump...