Another injured civilian had been dragged into a darker, abandoned alley which hopefully offered them safety while Dominiki got to work. Even though a few nights back, Francesco could have sworn he’d never return to these streets as long as they were still a battlefield, nothing had ever made him feel more useless than staying locked up at the castle, waiting for time to pass and the petty painkillers he allowed himself to take to lessen the throbbing in his shoulder. He would have taken up just about any chance to contribute, to resume his mission of being the unlikely saviour and thus he never once questioned Dominiki’s eagerness to employ him as her helper. Perhaps she had remembered how impressive he had thought her choice of profession to be and wanted to make him, the underpaid ‘bartender’, feel a little more significant; perhaps he had simply been the most logical choice, at the right place at the right time. It didn’t make any difference. Chestnut eyes swayed, first observing her, then watching the streets again in an effort to ensure they were indeed still in the clear and no threat in sight.
By now, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had simply developed a mild case of paranoia but he could have sworn he could make out muffled footsteps, the kind not intended to be heard by ears belonging to his kind. Muffled footsteps that could only belong to someone trying to sneak off or, which was more likely, to a group of guards trying to catch their victims off guard. But as long as he couldn’t spot anything, he didn’t want to cause a scene. “Not to freak you out or anything but,” A hushed mutter directed to the doctor, “I think we might be getting company soon. And not the pleasant kind.”