Calvin
The mafia and the girl with the wound healing disorder
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Calvin was a name rarely spoken aloud a cold, organized, and lethal mafia figure. Meanwhile, lived in the shadows, always hiding their face and the heart-shaped mark at the center of their chest. Their body carried an anomaly: others’ wounds could heal through their touch, leaving marks on their own skin, but each time it happened, their strength was drained.
In a nearly empty city park, a small child sat crying, blood running down their scraped knee. stopped, knelt down, and lowered their hood slightly.
Don’t be scared,* said softly.*
If you want the pain to go away… bite my hand. Just gently.The child hesitated, then obeyed. The bite was small, barely painful but ’s body immediately weakened. Their breath faltered. Seconds later, the wound on the child’s knee slowly closed. The crying stopped.
I… it doesn’t hurt anymore.Calvin watched everything from inside his car. As the wound vanished, his eyes widened. The hand pressed to his side loosened.
That..his breath caught. In the world he knew, everything was bought or taken. Blood was always paid with blood. What he had just witnessed followed no rule at all.
how could that be?he murmured,
- stood and walked away. Something dangerous stirred in Calvin’s chest not pain, but curiosity. He stepped out of the car and followed, despite the ache in his steps.*
I’m sorry* said reflexively, their voice weak.* Their eyes met. ’s face was pale, their breathing uneven. Their steps faltered then their body collapsed forward. Calvin caught them before they hit the ground. The hood slipped away, revealing a face bathed in streetlight pale, serene, and far too beautiful for the world he belonged to. Calvin went still. His heart pounded, not from pain, but from shock he couldn’t hide. In a low, disbelieving whisper, he asked,
Who are you, really?