Free Web NovelPavela felt that she was probably the only person in the entire empire who could turn “bed rest” into a serialized drama.
The last time she lay in this bed was because she detonated a void realm in the underground classroom, blowing up half of the teaching building.
This time she lay in this bed because she knocked out eight military police officers in the Old District, dismantled a mecha, and incidentally ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) dealt with seven Ferrymen.
The same ward, the same bed, the same pillow with a human-shaped indentation she had created.
Even the scratch on the bedside table that she accidentally made with her fingernail last time was still there.
When Eleanor carried her back, the duty military doctor in the infirmary went through a very interesting series of facial expressions.
First surprise, then helplessness, and finally a sense of resignation.
The elderly doctor didn't even ask what happened.
She just glanced at Pavela's injuries, then at Eleanor, who stood beside her with an expression as calm as still water, and then silently went to prepare gauze and disinfectant.
Very professional.
It was just that her expression carried an indescribable sense of fatigue.
Pavela felt she should apologize for this, but she truly couldn't hold on. The moment she was placed on the hospital bed, she lost consciousness and didn't even know the process of the military doctor cutting open her school uniform to examine her wounds.
After that night.
She had been lying down for three more days.
To be precise, four days.
Four full days from that night until now.
Pavela squinted, trying to adjust to the morning light on her face.
"Awake?"
"...Mm."
"Hungry?"
"...Not really."
"Thirsty?"
"...A little."
Eleanor sat by the bed.
She wasn't wearing her military uniform, having changed into a dark casual shirt with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing her smoothly contoured forearms.
Her ice-blue eyes appeared exceptionally clear in the morning light, like two pieces of glass washed by water.
She had been here since the first day.
Hardly leaving her side. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
During the day, she would sit by the bed reading or processing documents, occasionally stepping out for half an hour for official business, always returning with something new in her hand.
Sometimes it was a pastry, sometimes a cup of hot milk, sometimes just a clean towel.
At night, she slept on the camp bed next to the ward.
One night, Pavela woke up to see Eleanor lying on her side on the pitifully narrow camp bed, her military overcoat serving as a blanket, her breathing even and steady.
Moonlight seeped through the gap in the curtains, falling on her profile.
Eleanor, asleep, looked much softer than when she was awake.
Her brows were relaxed, her lips lacked the curve that always seemed ready to utter sharp words, and she was quietly curled up on the clearly too-short bed, knees slightly bent, one hand tucked under her cheek.
Pavela watched for a long time.
Then she pulled half of her blanket down, and with great effort using her left hand, barely reached the edge of the camp bed, draping the blanket over Eleanor's military overcoat.
When she woke up the next morning, the blanket was back on her.
Neatly spread.
Neither of them mentioned it.
...
Eleanor put down her book, poured a cup of warm water, supported Pavela's head with one hand, and brought the rim of the cup to her lips with the other.
The movements were practiced.
So practiced that Pavela felt a subtle sense of shame.
She drank a few sips of water, then tried to sit up, propping herself with her left hand.
Eleanor pressed her shoulder.
The force wasn't strong, but the meaning was clear.
"Don't move."
Pavela looked at Eleanor's expression.
She merely looked at her calmly, as if observing something fragile that needed careful handling.
Pavela decided to follow Eleanor's wishes and relaxed her efforts.
Eleanor reached out and gently stroked her head.
Her fingertips brushed through the stray hairs on her forehead, swept aside a few silver strands clinging to her temples, and finally rested on the crown of her head, gently rubbing.
She sighed.
A very soft sound.
As if all the words she wanted to say were compressed into that single breath.
Pavela didn't need to guess what was contained in that sigh.
They no longer needed to say those things aloud between them.
Pavela could feel it.
As clearly as she could feel the warmth of Eleanor's fingertips.
Eleanor also knew that she could feel it.
"Next time you want cake, you can let me buy it."
"Do you want some now?"
Pavela's nose suddenly felt a little sore.
"...Can I have a Caramel Hazelnut Mille-Feuille?"
"The one Victoria mentioned last time?"
"...Mm."
"Anything else you want to eat?"
"No more."
"Then that's all for now."
Pavela obediently hummed in agreement.
Eleanor picked up the book again and turned a page.
The ward fell silent.
Only the faint rustle of turning pages and the occasional sound of wind from outside the window.
Pavela lay on the pillow, staring at the ceiling.
The white plaster ceiling, with three slender cracks extending from the southeast corner to the gas lamp holder in the center, like tributaries branching off a dried river.
There was a green oxidized spot on the brass base of the lamp holder, shaped like a rabbit missing its left ear.
She was already very familiar with this rabbit.
It had accompanied her through those boring days during her last hospitalization.
She secretly turned her head to glance at Eleanor.
Eleanor's profile looked exceptionally serene in the light filtering through the window.
Her eyelashes were long, casting a small shadow on her cheekbones when lowered.
Her lips were slightly pursed, not in a tense way, but relaxed and natural.
The page-turning speed was very even.
Turning a page approximately every forty seconds, no more, no less.
Pavela averted her gaze.
Eleanor hadn't asked anything since that day she returned.
For the old Pavela, this would have been a form of torture.
Like taking away a death row inmate's clock and telling him he could die any day.
But the current Pavela had discovered something.
She wasn't nervous.
Not at all nervous.
She wasn't waiting for a question to come, wasn't rehearsing answers in her mind, wasn't calculating what could be said and what couldn't.
She was just lying here.
Lying here with a sense of security.
As if she knew that no matter what happened outside, the air in this ward was safe.
Because Eleanor was here.
Because Eleanor wouldn't ask.
This realization brought a warmth to her chest, and at the same time, made her nose ache again.
She cursed herself for being pathetic.
"...I'm sorry."
The words almost escaped on their own.
The sound of turning pages paused for an instant.
Then continued.
"Mm," Eleanor said.
Her tone was light.
Neither forgiving nor unforgiving.
"Between family, no apologies."
Pavela closed her eyes.
Eleanor's fingertips once again rested on the crown of her head, gently brushing aside the stray hairs on her forehead.
She didn't speak.
There was no need to speak.
In the warmth of that hand, Pavela fell asleep again.
