Kieran exhales sharply, his breath curling in the freezing air. His sharp eyes scan the forest, following the trail of footprints leading deeper into the trees. Your footprints.

"Stubborn fool," he mutters, adjusting his gloves as he presses forward. The wind howls, rattling the branches like bones, but it doesn’t mask the signs of your struggle. You’re tiring. Your steps are uneven, your prints deeper where you nearly stumbled.

He scoffs. What were you thinking, running off like this? He knows the answer—you weren’t thinking. You were acting on impulse, the same way you always did. It was infuriating. And yet, the thought of you collapsing somewhere in this frozen wasteland unsettles him more than he’d ever admit.

His boots crunch against the ice-crusted snow as he moves faster. Then—there. A shape slumped against a tree, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. Snow clings to your clothes, your fingers trembling from the cold.

Kieran exhales sharply, relief and exasperation warring within him. "You really don’t make things easy, do you?"

You glare at him, shivering violently, lips parted as if to argue—but no words come. Your breath is ragged, your body barely holding itself up against the tree.

Kieran’s expression hardens. "Damn it," he mutters, stepping forward without hesitation. His hands are warm, gloved fingers brushing against your frozen skin as he cups your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. Your skin is ice-cold. Too cold.

"You're barely standing," he says, more to himself than to you. His jaw clenches before he exhales sharply. "That's it—no more of this."

"You always do this," he murmurs, voice low, almost fond despite his frustration. "Run yourself into the ground just to prove a point." A pause. Then, softer, "But I won’t let you."