Page 65 of Sins of the Hidden

"He…He just took out an organ?" He didn't respond as he continued to throw the wooden slats in a pile. "Has he taken anything else out?" A stupid question, but I knew there would be more to this, anything involving V had more to it. I just had to dig to get the information I needed.

"Took out everything I don't need." How had he just let someone take away vital body parts?

"You just…let him?"

He shrugged like taking out organs was a normal thing to do, then went back to work as I stared at him, stunned. My mind wandered, watching him, the mystery of what lay beneath the fabric that he so carefully kept in place. He was in so many ways still an enigma to me. For all the time we'd spent together, I barely knew anything about him at all. Each tiny revelation felt like finding a single puzzle piece without knowing what the full picture was supposed to be.

I found myself wondering about his past, the years before Souls. He'd mentioned joining when he was fifteen, but what about before? Who were his parents? What had shaped him into a man who lived for killing? The more I learned about V, the more questions I had.

I bent down to pick up some of the smaller pieces that V had overlooked, stretching my arm under a partially collapsed section of furniture. A stray nail caught on my glove as I reached for a piece of broken chair. The sudden sting made me wince, and I pulled back to see red blooming through the fabric where the glove had torn around my ring finger. It wasn't serious, just a surface scratch, but I quickly tucked my hand away. I had noidea how V would react to seeing me injured. Would he ignore it completely? Or would it trigger something in him I wasn't ready to deal with? Either way, I didn't want to find out over a tiny cut.

V's heavy footsteps approached, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He stopped a few feet away, his shadow falling over me as I remained frozen in place.

"You stopped," he observed, his deep voice cutting through the dust-filled air.

"It's really hot in here. I was thinking about your condition—you can't feel the heat or sweat. I just wanted to make sure you're okay." I winced inwardly at my clumsy concern, knowing he could actually overheat without realizing it.

"I'm not scared of dying." The flat, emotionless way he said it sent a chill down my spine despite the suffocating heat. His eyes remained fixed on me, unblinking and unnervingly calm about his own mortality.

His casual disregard for his life hit me like a slap. I shouldn't have been surprised—he couldn't feel pain, so maybe death was just another sensation that didn't register for him. What unsettled me more was my own reaction: the thought of him suddenly not being around anymore made my stomach drop. I wasn't ready to figure out why that bothered me so much.

I cleared my throat, needing to change the subject. "The forecast says tomorrow will be cooler, so we can do a lot more then."

"Painting?" He asked, his tone shifting back to business as if we hadn't just discussed his mortality.

"Oh, I have the perfect colors!" Clapping my hands together, I spun, already picturing it all—each wall, each tile. "I was thinking of a mocha color for the walls? And eggshell colored tiled floors. Make it warm and inviting." Standing there, imagining the finished bakery, I felt a wave of disbelief. This was really happening. V had somehow taken my whispereddreams and transformed them into this concrete reality we were building together.

Gazing over to him, he stood frozen, glaring at me. "S-Sorry I?—"

"Smile again." He said it like a command, not a request.

I laughed softly. He was weirdly obsessed with that lately—like he was studying it. So I did as he asked and let the grin surface. His eyes locked on my face, intense and searching. He took a step closer, his massive frame towering over me, casting me in shadow. My breath caught in my throat as he raised his hand slowly, deliberately.

His calloused thumb pressed gently against my bottom lip, the unexpected spark sending heat through me. I froze, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. The pad of his thumb was rough, dragging against the sensitive skin of my lip with a friction that made my pulse stutter.

"What does it mean," he asked quietly, "when you smile?" His thumb traced the curve of my lip, his eyes following the movement with fascination.

My heart hammered against my ribs. How do you explain joy to someone who doesn't even feel pain? How could I describe the warmth spreading through my chest whenever he was near?

"It means I'm happy," I whispered against his thumb. "About the bakery. About..." I swallowed hard. "About being here with you."

Something flickered in his eyes—confusion, maybe curiosity. Or maybe something darker. His hand dropped to his side, but he didn't move away. I wondered if anyone had ever said that to him before.

As he turned to collect the next piece of furniture, I winced again at the stinging cut on my finger. The glove had torn through, a thin line slipping across my palm. I tried to wipe it away fast, but V caught the movement.

In an instant, he was before me, his massive hand closing around my wrist with surprising gentleness. His hold was firm but careful, as if he was consciously holding back his strength.

"You're bleeding," he said, low and flat—but something in his voice made my heart stutter.

"It's nothing. Just a scratch from a nail," I tried to pull away, but his hand tensed around mine.

"Show me." It wasn't a request.

I uncurled my fingers, revealing the small cut. It wasn't deep, but a vivid streak marked my hand. V stared at it with an odd, intense expression. His eyes seemed to darken as they fixed on the wound, pupils dilating until they nearly swallowed the iris. His breathing changed—became deeper, more deliberate.

"V?" I whispered, suddenly nervous.

He didn't respond. Instead, he brought my hand closer to his face, examining the cut with an almost indifference that somehow felt more intimate than a caress. His thumb hovered just millimeters from the wound, not connecting with my skin but close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off him like standing too close to a flame.

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