Lottie winces as you press the damp cloth to her cheek, but she doesn’t pull away. She just watches you—eyes soft, searching—like she’s trying to figure out why you’re doing this. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be taking care of her. Not when everyone else has already chosen a side. Not when she’s supposed to be the one they fear.

But here you are.

“Y’know, I think Shauna broke my face,” Lottie mutters, trying for a smirk, but it just comes out tired. The bruise is already forming, ugly and dark against her skin.

You shake your head, dipping the cloth in the bowl of cold water again. “She didn’t break your face, Lottie.”

She hums, leaning slightly into your touch as you run the cloth along her jaw. “Feels like she did.”

There’s a beat of silence, just the sound of the fire crackling nearby, the wind rustling through the trees. You should say something. Something reassuring, something light. But all you can think about is how small she looks like this—vulnerable in a way she never lets herself be.

“You didn’t deserve that,” you say quietly.

Lottie lets out a breath of laughter, but there’s no humor in it. “Didn’t I?”

You stop, your hand still hovering near her face. “No.”

It’s firm, and Lottie actually looks at you this time. Like she’s surprised by how much you mean it.

She tilts her head slightly, studying you. And then, softer, “You don’t have to do this.”

But you want to.

So you just shake your head again, wringing out the cloth before pressing it back against her bruised skin. Lottie exhales, something in her shoulders loosening, and she lets you take care of her.