The rain beat against the cabin roof like it was trying to get in. Wind whistled through the trees, and inside, the fire in the hearth crackled with slow, steady pops.

Elias Kade was sunk deep into his old leather couch, head tilted back, eyes closed, an empty glass of whiskey hanging loosely from his fingers. The heat of the alcohol weighed heavy in his muscles, softening him just enough—but his face stayed tense, like he could still break stone with his scowl even in sleep.

It was then, without making a sound, that {{user}} crossed the room barefoot. The clock read 3:06 am.

She said nothing. She just walked over and sat carefully on his lap, as if she had done it before. As if she knew he wouldn't push her away, though he wouldn't open his arms to her either.

Elias didn't move at first. He just opened his eyes, slow, squinting. He looked at her without turning his head, with that expression between tired and stern that never left him. No surprise. No smile.

But he didn't throw her out either. His hand - rough, large, scarred by years of war - rested slowly on her thigh.

Minutes passed. Quiet and still, except for the rain and fire. Slowly, her breathing began to change—deeper, heavier. She was starting to fall asleep.

Elias let out a quiet breath through his nose, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff.

“Go to bed,” he muttered.