The Princess and The Criminal [ CAITVI ]

16 | Tired Eyes

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Caitlyn's POV
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The path was a treacherous mix of mud and puddles, the air heavy with the scent of wet earth and faint traces of blood. Exhaustion settled deep into my bones, every step slower than the last. My shoes, once pristine, dangled uselessly from my fingers, caked in purple ooze. Barefoot, I tried to avoid the puddles, but it was a futile effort. This terrain—this whole ordeal—was entirely foreign to me.

Vi, as usual, moved ahead without a second thought. Even with bloodstains and bruises marring her form, her eyes were sharp and shoulders squared—as though she was still waiting for the next fight to come our way.

But as we continued walking, my gaze wandered to her forearm—the jagged tear in her sleeve revealing the dark streak of blood. She should've cleaned it hours ago, but naturally, Vi would rather bleed out than admit she needed help.

But the faint tremor in her fingers betrayed her.

She was in pain—she just refused to show it.

"You should clean that," I said, gesturing to the cut on her. "Unless you're aiming for an infection."

She raised a brow, casting a sidelong glance at me. "You worried about me?"

"Hardly." I replied, folding my arms. "But you've got enough blood on you already. It's a bit... excessive."

She scoffed, shooting me a look of mock offense. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you cared."

I rolled my eyes—but didn't argue, partly because I wasn't sure how to respond. Instead, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the screaming protests from my limbs.

Eventually, we reached Vi's place. Vi pushed the creaky door open with her shoulder, the heavy sack of supplies still slung over her back. She stepped inside, her boots leaving muddy prints on the warped floorboards.

I followed, the chill from the night clinging to my skin, my movements slow and stiff. I stepped into the dim light, thankful for the shelter.

Vi let the sack of supplies thud to the floor with her usual lack of grace. She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her short, damp hair.

"Home sweet home," Vi muttered, kicking the door shut with her boot. But I caught the wince that crossed her face when she shifted her injured arm. She tried to mask it, of course, but I'd spent enough time watching her to recognize when she was biting back pain.

"You're still bleeding," I said, eyeing the gash on her arm as she began rummaging through the sack. The cut ran deep, and each time she moved, fresh crimson trickled down.

"It's nothing," she replied coldly.

"Nothing?" I repeated, incredulous. "That's not going to just heal itself. You'll be lucky if it doesn't fester."

She shot me a look, sharp enough to cut. It was her silent way of telling me to back off, but I didn't. I stayed planted where I was, shifting my weight before taking a step closer.

"Vi," I said, my tone firm but quieter now, "let me see it."

Her shoulders stiffened at the words, but she rifled the sack like whatever she was looking for would make me disappear. "I'm fine, princess," she muttered, "Been through worse."

Ignoring her brush-off, I took another step, closing the space between us. My hand hesitated, then lightly brushed her shoulder. She tensed under my touch, her tough facade faltering just long enough for a flicker of surprise to show.

"Just let me help," I said, my voice almost gentle—more than I intended, but I didn't care. The day had wrung me dry, left me too tired to guard myself.