Chapter 56: Need Some Help?

“No,” Leon muttered and shook his head. The pink diary felt heavy in his hands, its silver-embossed name seeming to pulse against his skin. “It would be an invasion of privacy.”

He placed the diary carefully on the bedside table as if it were a live explosive, positioning it exactly where he’d found it.

The temptation was a cold knot in his stomach, but the memory of the digital warning—she knows—was a stronger deterrent. For now.

He walked to the bathroom, washed the blood—from the blood—from his scraped knuckles, the gritty ash from his face, neck, and chest. He stood there watching as the grey and red swirled down the drain.

He scrubbed with the sponge until his skin was raw.

Drying off with the blue towel, he exited the bathroom. The air still hummed with the aftermath of his rage and the distant storm.

He threw himself on the bed, the dampness of his trousers a cold shock against the sheets. He stared at the ceiling, where lightning shadows danced, until exhaustion finally pulled him under.

He slept for a while until a noise jolted him awake. His eyes snapped open. The storm had passed; grey early morning light filtered through the window.

At the front of the bed, he saw Zoe standing there, her back facing him. She turned but didn’t glance at him and walked to the cosmetic table, then sat down.

Leon watched through slitted eyes as she pulled a small, white case from a drawer. “A first aid kit.” Leon’s eyes squinted.

She opened it, extracted a wound disinfectant spray and a pad of gauze, and set them on the table. Then she remained seated, picked up a canister, and stared at her own reflection in the mirror as if waiting for something.

“What are you doing?” Leon sat up as curiosity overrode his pretense of sleep.

Zoe turned her head slowly, her expression unreadable. “Nothing.” A faint smile touched her lips, then vanished as she shifted her gaze back to the mirror.

“If you say so.” Leon swung his legs out of bed, ignoring the lingering ache in his muscles and the sharper pain in his stomach from the boy’s punch.

He walked to the bathroom, spent ten minutes there, letting the spray of water echo loudly.

His mind replayed the previous day in fractured images: the impossible, eye-searing lightning; the terrifying ease with which his fist had cratered the wall; and the contemptuous faces of Jade and Vera, the brutal shove, and the cold spit that touched his skin.

He turned off the water, toweled himself dry, and pulled on a fresh pair of black boxers. Taking a steady breath, he opened the bathroom door and froze.

Zoe was standing directly in front of the doorway, leaning against the frame. She wore a white gown, so sheer it was virtually transparent.

The morning light from the window behind her outlined her form, leaving little to the imagination. Her arms were folded loosely under her breasts, which were clearly visible, dangling as one bare foot tapped a slow rhythm on the pink mat.

Leon’s breath hitched as saliva traced down his throat.

His gaze instinctively dropped onto the dangling breasts for a split second before he wrenched it upward, fixing it on a point on the wall past her left ear.

“I kept you long?” Leon asked but received only a sharp stare. “Sorry,” he murmured as he made a move past her. His path was so narrow that as he slid by, his left arm brushed firmly against the soft curve of her ass.

He stiffened, darting into the room’s center as if burned.

“You intentionally did that.” Zoe’s voice came out low but angry, one that also felt pleasured.

When he dared a glance back, her face was a mask of playful sternness, but a secret smile was tearing at the corners of her lips.

She didn’t move from the doorway, just watched him for a beat longer before turning and finally entering the bathroom.

Boom.

The door clicked shut. A second later, through the translucent glass, he saw her press her hand against it, her fingers forming a deliberate gesture: a fuck-you gesture.

Then she moved away, the shadow of her figure blurring as she presumably stepped into the shower.

“This girl,” Leon muttered, shaking his head. A reluctant, flustered smile tugged at his mouth as he brushed a hand through his damp hair, trying to dispel the lingering image of Zoe’s form.

Variable item. Keep interesting items close.

Her words from yesterday and the day after echoed in a tone layered with new, confusing implications.

“I need to change.” He walked to the wardrobe and crouched, opening the lower drawer he’d used before.

He rummaged through the standard-issue black training gear, finding most of it loose.

“This blue shirt seems a bit larger than me,” he mumbled, holding one up, his face squeezing slightly. He discarded it and pulled out another.

“Yes, this seems fitted to me.” A simple black long-sleeved shirt, sleek and minimal.

As he was in the process of pulling on a pair of dark trousers, one leg in, hopping to maintain balance, the bathroom door opened.

“Ahem…”

A burst of genuine laughter cut through the room’s tension. Leon stumbled, grabbing the wardrobe door for support.

Zoe stood there, the thick white towel wrapped securely around her chest to her knees, another turbaned around her hair.

Water droplets gleamed on her shoulders.

“Need some help?” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, quickly shoving his other leg into the trousers and fastening them. He kept his back to her, a mundane task he had failed to complete earlier.

Zoe chuckled in a soft, musical tone and walked to the privacy curtain. She pulled it along its track with a sharp zrrrip.

Silence ruled as Leon continued dressing.

The soft black fabric felt strangely comforting, and as he was just smoothing in the shirt, a new sound erupted.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Before either of them could react, the door swung open. Mr. Lee stood on the threshold, his face like a thundercloud. In his left hand, he held the ruined datapad.

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