A gust of sea wind blew over, and Valentine's thin clothes were insufficient to ward off the cold.
She shivered from the cold, touched her bare arms, already covered with goosebumps.
Suddenly, a shadow pressed from behind. She reflexively turned around, using a letter opener to ward it off: "Don't touch me!"
"Ugh..." came a muffled groan, and Valentine realized she had made a mistake.
As she turned around, the knife in her hand had already slashed through, cutting Mark Reed's left arm, and crimson blood immediately surged out.
And in Mark Reed's hand was his jacket, opened to drape over her shoulders.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Valentine exclaimed in shock, dropping the letter opener, helplessly looking at his arm, with blood already staining a large part of his shirt red.
He frowned, enduring the pain in his arm, draped his jacket on her shoulders, and then raised his hand to press against his bleeding arm, turning to walk towards the car.
