For the next few minutes, Cas tried everything he could to slow the bleeding. He pressed his hand down firmly over the wound, cringing at the way his own touch burned his sundered skin, and whispered urgent mantras checkered with swearing when his efforts didn’t work. He had no idea how to make it stop. The viscous stream continued steadily, ebbing and flowing with each beat of his heart. The longer he remained in the rebels’ captivity, the more he had begun to realize how ill-equipped he was to take care of himself without servants and professionals to do most of the work for him. Now that he was alone, he couldn’t rely on anyone but himself, and he was letting himself down royally.

His face contorted with another grimace as the ache in his arm worsened again, and he drew his knees to his chest. By now, his sleeve and the left side of his shirt were stained with blood. He’d gotten some on his jeans too, and even his face when he’d reached up to scratch an itch on his cheek without thinking about the liquid on his hands. It was hard to believe such a small wound could bleed so heavily, but it [i]was [/i]pretty deep. He’d taken a closer look at the pocketknife blade and found that it was a little more than five centimeters long. That was more than half the width of his bicep, so the weapon had cut him done to the bone. He shivered apprehensively, despising the mental image that the thought elicited against his will.

Just as he began to give up on taking care of the injury, he stiffened at the sound of the basement door opening. It couldn’t have been a few hours already, could it? He thought he’d only been sitting in his cell for about fifteen minutes. Cautiously, he watched as someone descended the stairs at a hurried pace. For half a second, he thought it was Regis, back to finish him off personally. However, the silhouette in the doorway wasn’t big enough to be a man.

At the sound of Iris’s voice, he blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to come back after her father had been so stern with her. He watched ferally as she approached him, still tense with residual energy from his fight with Regis. She behaved like she wasn’t there to follow in her father’s footsteps, but he had learned better than to trust a rebel. With deep bruises covering his body and an open gash in his arm, he wasn’t in any condition to believe anyone in this house was a friend. So, when she asked him to trust her, a quiet scoff slipped from his lips. [color=#b97703][i]Trust you? The woman who led me to this shithole in the first place?[/i][/color] The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he restrained himself from spitting them at her. He could see that she was carrying something.

When she went on, he took her words in silence and turned them over in his head. He studied the vodka-soaked rag in her hands without touching it and then lifted his gaze to her face. The gesture was benevolent, and he couldn’t hear any deceit or mocking intonations in her voice. Although he was hesitant to believe her after she tricked him in the capital, he had to admit, she really seemed to be here to help him. [color=#b97703][i]And what other choice do I have?[/i][/color] He admitted to himself. Worst case, she fooled him one more time and led him to his death—which he was already facing either way. Best case, he had one more shot at escaping with his life. He had nothing left to lose.

[color=#b97703]“Fine,”[/color] Cas murmured indifferently, his own voice becoming more blasé as he came to terms with the fact that he no longer had any control over his own life. Even if he pushed past her and made a bolt for the door, she could just tell her father that he was running, and he wouldn’t get very far. There was no point to do anything other than go along with her game, whatever it was, and find out what the outcome would be.

Having made his decision, he rolled his bloodstained sleeve back to give her access to the wound. [color=#b97703]“Have at it,”[/color] he shrugged with his right shoulder, looking off to the side to avoid her gaze.