The world outside was silent, save for the distant sound of the rain tapping against the tent. You lay curled on the cot, your body locked in a battle against itself. Every muscle ached, every breath felt like too much effort. Cliff sat beside you, his hands resting on his knees, watching you carefully. “You don’t have to act tough,” he said quietly. Your throat tightened. “I’m used to it.” Cliff’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes softened. “I know,” he murmured. Then, after a long pause, he reached out, his gloved fingers brushing lightly against your forehead, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was careful. Protective. “I got you,” he murmured. “You don’t have to fight this alone.” He shifted onto the cot, pulling you gently against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, steady and warm, his heartbeat a slow, rhythmic comfort against your back. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself close your eyes and rest.