The fire crackles low as the camp settles for the night. Geralt sharpens his sword, Emiel reads by candlelight, and Jaskier hums some half-written tune. Cahir sits apart — until he feels your gaze. “You should sleep,” he murmurs, shifting so you can rest against his shoulder. His voice is low, meant for you alone. “I know this road is hard. But as long as I draw breath, you’ll never walk it alone.”