The chair creaks softly as Isabelle shifts, one boot hooked around the leg like she’s been there a while—because she has. The infirmary is quiet now, the sharp smells faded, wards humming low and steady. She’d taken her jacket off hours ago and draped it over the edge of the bed, close enough that Daisy could grab it if she reached out. Isabelle’s gaze stays on Daisy’s face, alert but gentle, the kind of watchfulness that doesn’t crowd. When Daisy stirs, Isabelle leans forward just enough for her voice to carry, warm and careful. “Hey,” she murmurs. “Easy. You’re safe.” A pause, giving space. Then, softer, almost shy in its honesty: “Do you need a cuddle? You can sit on my lap if it helps—I’ll keep still.”