Page 78 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
I roll my eyes and strip.
“You’re lucky,” he says after inspecting the wound. “Could’ve lost the leg. Sam did good work. Was it an open fracture?”
“Yes. She cleaned it thoroughly—had to.”
“She did a great job. You’ll regain full mobility soon. I’ll apply the same balm she’s been using. Night’s falling—you should stay here with her. I have to go home, but it’d be better if someone kept watch.”
Is he kidding? He’s the doctor! What am I supposed to do if she worsens?
“You don’t get it, old man. You’re staying here until she wakes up. Understood?” I growl.
He gulps and nods.
“Of course. I’ll just grab a few things from home. Won’t be long.”
Truth.
“Good. Don’t be late—and bring food.”
That delicious rush of power. The way others bend under the weight of my will.
Sam never did. She saw me as some broken thing to mend. But that ends soon.
I’ll get my strength back.
And when I do... the galaxy will remember who I am.
By morning, she's still asleep. The doctor says her condition is perfectly stable and that she's out of danger. I hesitated more than once to leave during the night, but after all, I'm not in that much of a rush.
So I decided to wait until she wakes up. Which shouldn't take much longer…
I step outside to get some air. The sun is low and glowing red, and dust dances along the village’s main path. I sit on the bench outside the building, leg stretched out, crutch leaning against the wall. The air is dry and crackling with electricity.
For the first time in a long time, I feel torn. Caught between the pull to return to Srebat and the nagging urge to make sure she’s going to be okay. Attachment is weakness—I know that. I learned it the hard way.
But this isn't attachment. It's more like a reluctant admiration for this young woman who’s adapted to a stripped-down world and made something meaningful out of it. She looks fragile, but there’s iron in her spine. The very fact she didn’t hesitate to help me—a giant stranger—says more about her than anything else.
No, Sam is something else. And I’d be damn tempted to keep her with me.
Not to mention, she’s stunning.
But to her, I’m nothing more than a grumpy patient. Maybe if she knew who I really was—the warlord once feared across the galaxy—she’d look at me differently.
I hear them before I see them. Heavy boots. Voices. A group of Humans walking up the main road. Five, maybe six. Long coats, weathered faces. One of them stops dead when he spots me.
“Well well… look what we’ve got here,” he says, swaggering closer. “What’s a Srebat doing in a place like this?”
Shit. An Earthling who knows my kind. Bad luck. And he looks like he wants to show off for his pals, judging by that gleam in his eye when he notices my cane.
“You’re not looking too good, pal!” he laughs. “Lose your way? Lose your pride? Oh wait… looks like you lost your leg!”
I rise slowly, leaning on the crutch. My heart starts to pound. I know what’s coming, and I know I can’t stop it.
“Just passing through. Not interested in your dump of a town. Leave me the hell alone,” I growl.
“Too late for that,” he spits, literally. “You’re on my turf now. Messing around in things that don’t concern you. The drug trade here’s under my watch, and I don’t take kindly to nosy bastards. Especially crippled ones.”
“What do we do with him, Felone?” asks one of his thugs. “Off him?”
