Do you do any hidden injury snippets?
The protagonist glanced over at the comment - pitched low, so nobody else would overhear them. Their throat locked tight.
There was no question in the ex-antagonist's words, nor in their stare. They knew.
The protagonist tried to think when the ex-antagonist might had seen, when they'd been so careless. Did everyone know? Did their friends know? They tried to think of a good way to deny it.
The antagonist shrugged at them, over the campfire. "I know when you're in pain," the little sadist said, peaceful enough, though with that glint in their eyes. "You can't hide it from me."
The protagonist's jaw clenched.
"Don't worry," the ex-antagonist said. "I won't tell anyone. At least, not unless I think you're going to get in the way of the mission."
"I'm fine." It came out sharp.
People glanced over at them.
The ex-antagonist raised an eyebrow, somewhere between amused and judgy. The protagonist was many, many things. Stubborn, practical, especially skilled at compartmentalising. They were not fine.
"I'm fine," the protagonist said, a little quieter. Their cheeks would have heated if they had enough blood in them. They pressed a protective hand over their chest, over their injury.
"You will be if you let me take a look at it."
"And why would you want to do that?"
"So I can poke where it hurts and watch you try not to scream."
When the protagonist didn't particularly react to that statement, except to give the ex-antagonist a withering look, their ex enemy sighed.
"I'm an expert at dark magic. The wound itself isn't that bad, or you wouldn't still be standing, but you're also clearly..." The ex-antagonist trailed off.
The ex-antagonist shrugged again. "I'm an expert at dark magic," they said, once more. "It would be very inconvenient if, having been nicked by a tainted blade, you hallucinated in the night and slaughtered our entire party. Well. Your friends, anyway."
The protagonist's heart stuttered.
"Because I wouldn't be able to take you?"
"Not in your current state."
The protagonist wanted to snarl, but to snarl was to admit too many other things, so they glared at the fire instead.
"Do the others know?" they asked, eventually.
"Because you're just that observant."
The antagonist smiled, scalpel thin. "Only when it comes to people being hurt, love. To you. Being hurt."
The protagonist swallowed. The hidden injury in their chest gave another nasty throb beneath the bandages.
Was the ex-antagonist right, when they spoke about dark magic? It was true that the protagonist had felt...off, since they'd received the wound. The wound hadn't seemed infected or anything though. And it wasn't large enough to kill them. Right?
"I'm fine," the protagonist said, again, and pushed to their feet. "Mind your own business. I'll get the job done."
"Mm," the ex-antagonist said, watching them. "I give it about twenty four hours."
"Then we don't have time to waste, do we?" It came out a definite snarl. A hiss. Some wild, dangerous thing at any rate. It was true, though - they had no time. If they stopped to rest, to recover, then they might miss their chance. The villain would win.
"You are planning to survive this battle, aren't you?"
The question was quiet. It was, through some terrible miracle, a question.
The protagonist looked back at the ex-antagonist, and feared what their old enemy might see on their face. The ex-antagonist stared back at them, something odd on their face.
The protagonist opened their mouth to speak. Closed it. Then, in the end, they walked away.
When they woke up, their party's healer was sitting next to them, looking unbelievably cross.
And they knew, then, that for whatever reason the antagonist had tol, after all.
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