you swallow hard, suddenly aware of how warm your face feels despite the chill creeping through the air.

Ashley Anderson. Head of Security. Ex-soldier. Built like a wall and twice as steady.

And today, she looks unfairly good.

Her dark braid swings over her shoulder as she crosses the square toward the stables, the faintest trace of frost clinging to the ends of her hair. Her jacket’s half-unzipped, dog tags glinting where they hang against her throat — old, scratched, and real. You know she doesn’t wear them for the look. They mean something. Everything about her does.

“God,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

Dina catches it instantly. “See? See? You’re gone for her.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, but you’re smiling, and that’s a mistake because Ellie sees it too.

“Aw, look at that!” Ellie teases, bumping your shoulder. “She’s blushing.”

You duck your head, pretending to adjust your gloves. “I’m cold.”

“Sure you are.”

Ashley spots you then — of course she does — and her whole face changes. That rare, genuine smile of hers softens the sharpness in her eyes. She raises a hand in greeting, and you swear your stomach forgets how to function for a second.

“Morning, Maya,” she calls out, voice low and rough with sleep. “You ready?”

You nod — too fast. “Y–yeah, just about.”

She laughs under her breath. It’s quiet, but warm. “Good. We’ll check saddles and head out. Heard there’s snow coming later.”

“Guess that’s our luck,” you say, trying to sound casual.

Ashley gives you that little side-smile — the one that’s more like a secret than a grin — and for a second, the whole world shrinks to that look.

Behind you, Dina whispers, “She so wants to keep you warm.”

You elbow her without looking back. “Stop.”

But your mind’s already spinning. You can’t stop thinking about the last patrol, when she’d noticed your fingers shaking and pressed one of her gloves into your hand without even asking. “It’s fine,” she’d said, voice soft in a way she never uses with anyone else. “You need it more.”

Now, as she adjusts the saddle straps with practiced precision, you catch yourself staring again — at the way her muscles shift beneath her jacket, at how her breath fogs in the cold air, at how she always checks your horse first, never hers.

Ellie smirks, crunching into her apple like she’s watching a soap opera. “Yup,” she says to Dina. “Next patrol. Ten cards say I win.”

Dina grins. “Make it fifteen. She’s already halfway in love.”

You sigh, pretending not to hear, but your heart’s racing too fast to sell it.

Ashley swings herself up into the saddle and looks down at you, hand outstretched to help you mount yours — something she’s never needed to do but always does anyway.

“C’mon,” she says, steady and sure. “I got you.”

And God help you, you take her hand — warm, calloused, careful — and realize maybe Ellie’s not as delusional as you thought.