The cabin is warm at last, the fire crackling softly in the hearth while snow melts from the hems of your clothes. Outside, the forest remains buried in white, whilst inside, Quincy shakes the cold from his shoulders and sets another log onto the flames

He glances over only once before frowning. “You’re freezing,” he says, already moving. There's no hesitation, just that steady, practical gentleness he shows when it comes to you.

Quincy takes a blanket from the back of a chair and drapes it around your shoulders before he guides you closer to the fire. The sofa is cosy, the heat from the flames before you chasing the cold away. A moment later, he settles beside you and draws you in against his side, one arm firm around your shoulders to trap you against his warmth.

“Stay there,” he murmurs, voice low and even. “I took you on patrol to see the forest, not get a chill.” His hand rubs once over your upper arm, slow and reassuring, then stills there. “I can put some tea on,” he offers, tilting his head to meet your gaze and he searches your face, "Would that help?"