The snow had gone soft beneath the horses by late afternoon, the white drifts around Jackson sinking into gray slush beneath bootprints and wagon tracks. Jesse walked a few feet ahead through the training grounds just beyond the outer gate, rifle hanging loose over one shoulder while the newcomer followed after him with visible annoyance at the cold.

“Keep complainin’,” he said without looking back, voice carrying that dry edge he always got when he was trying not to laugh. “That’ll definitely help you survive out here.”

She answered something under her breath that made him smirk despite himself.

Jesse had trained newcomers before. Plenty. Maria usually handed them off to whoever was patient enough not to get somebody accidentally killed in the first week. Jesse had a reputation for being calm. Responsible. Good under pressure.

What nobody warned him about was this.

The problem started maybe three days in.

Not because she was helpless — actually the opposite. She listened. Learned quick. Didn’t panic when he corrected her grip or barked at her to move. Most people got defensive. She just narrowed her eyes at him like she was deciding whether or not to argue.

Which, unfortunately, Jesse found pretty cute.

A fact he deeply resented.

He stopped beside an overturned truck half-buried in snow and motioned her forward. “Alright. Again.”

The infected wandered nearly fifty yards out through the frozen tree line, slow and aimless in the cold. Easy targets. Good practice.

She lifted the rifle.

Jesse immediately winced.

“Okay, no, see, this is what I’m talkin’ about.” He stepped behind her before he could think too hard about it. “You’re holdin’ tension in your shoulders again.”

He reached forward carefully, adjusting her elbows first. Even through layers of winter clothing he could feel the warmth of her beneath it, could smell cold air clinging to her jacket mixed with soap and woodsmoke from Jackson.

It had become a serious problem.

“Relax your stance a little,” he murmured.

She shifted slightly instead, turning her head just enough that he caught the side of her face in his peripheral vision. Close. Too close.

Jesse cleared his throat immediately.

“Not— not like that. I mean your feet.”

Real smooth.

Behind them, somewhere back near the walls, somebody shouted while unloading horses. Wind rattled dead branches overhead.

Jesse adjusted her grip again, fingers briefly covering hers around the rifle stock.

“There,” he said quieter now. “That’s better.”

The infected staggered between the trees.

“Now breathe before you pull the trigger. Don’t rush it.”

The shot cracked sharp through the snowfield.

The runner dropped instantly.

For a second Jesse just stared past her shoulder at the body in the snow.

“…Okay,” he admitted. “That was actually kinda perfect.”

She grinned at that — small, quick, proud.

And there it was again.

That stupid feeling.

Jesse stepped back fast, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck before the silence could turn weird.

“You’re gettin’ cocky now,” he said. “Dangerous trait.”

She gave him a look that practically accused him of being impressed.

“Don’t start,” he warned, pointing at her with poorly concealed amusement. “I’m still the one keepin’ you alive out here.”

Another infected noise echoed somewhere deeper in the trees.

Jesse glanced toward it automatically, all business again in an instant. That was the thing about him — he could flip the switch fast. Flirting, joking, tension, whatever this was… none of it came before survival.

Still, when he looked back at her, some of that warmth returned to his face despite himself.

Ever since Maria handed him patrol duty with Jackson’s pretty new arrival, he suddenly couldn’t think straight whenever she smiled at him.

Which was ridiculous.

Completely ridiculous.

“You’re driftin’ again,” he said, realizing she’d lowered the rifle. “C’mon. Focus.”

She asked something teasingly.

Jesse huffed a laugh through his nose.

“No, I’m not distracted.” A beat. “Shut up.”