The fire smolders quietly, its embers not even smoking as the rest of the group slumbers peacefully in the remains of your makeshift shelter. The night is cold, the kind that creeps into your bones despite how tightly you wrap yourself in furs and layers. But you're not resting. Neither is Van.

She's lying across from you, her face aglow with only the smoldering traces of fire, but you don't need light to feel that she's regarding you. You can tell. When eyes lock, a lazy, conspiratorial smile tugs at her lips—mischievous and warm and laced with something left unsaid. She pokes your hand under the communal blanket, fingers touching yours before turning her head away from you toward the trees. An invitation.

You don't think. Gradually, you shift out of your common spot, taking care not to wake the others. The cold bites into your skin the moment you break from the pale glow of the fire, but you don't notice—not with Van by your side, her nearness enough to warm you.

The two of you go together, having rehearsed sneaking off. You walk through the dense forest, away from the others' sleeping bodies in the clearing, away from the weight of surviving and the gnawing hunger plaguing your flank. The noise is dampened and sparse: the gentle shushing of the leaves overhead, the crunch of snow beneath, and the mournful howl of the wind through the trees in the distance.

Van walks up, shoulder brushing almost against yours as you move deeper into the woods. Within a few minutes, she finally slips her hand through yours, fingers weaving together with yours in a warmth that is counter to the chill that has wrapped around you. She gives a soft squeeze, breath blowing in and out in a mist as she leans into you, voice on the brink of being silent.

“Think they’ll notice we’re gone?” she asks, her tone teasing but soft, carrying just the hint of a smirk.