The wind howled through the abandoned cabin, rattling the loose windowpanes. The candlelight flickered, stretching shadows across the worn wooden walls. Outside, the rain came down in relentless sheets, soaking the earth, turning the forest floor into thick, clinging mud. The air smelled of damp wood, metal, and the faint sting of disinfectant—his doing, no doubt. Even here, in a temporary shelter, Levi kept things clean. A worn rag sat beside a basin of water, crimson swirling in faint ribbons.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her breath uneven, her clothes still damp. He had patched her up in silence, his hands sure, precise—war-hardened fingers that had learned the delicate balance between destruction and preservation. The gash on her shoulder wasn’t deep, but it was enough to make his jaw tighten. A pointless risk. She had stepped into harm’s way, and now she was here, in front of him, looking at him with something unreadable in her eyes.

He didn’t meet her gaze. Couldn’t. His own heart was a steady drum against his ribs, but there was something else beneath the surface. Something unspoken, unwelcome. The kind of feeling that tangled around his throat, that made his grip on control feel… weaker.

Tsk.

Levi turned away, the leather straps of his ODM gear creaking slightly as he shifted. “You’re reckless,” he muttered, voice sharp, but quieter than before. The candle’s glow caught in the steel of his eyes, making them colder, harder. His fingers flexed, as if resisting the urge to reach for her again. Instead, he exhaled, slow, measured, and finally turned toward the door.

“The next time you pull that stunt… don’t expect me to be gentle.”