The wind outside howls through broken concrete and twisted steel.

The fire’s long since gone out. There’s only the faint glow of a lantern—dim, flickering, struggling against the thick weight of night.

You’re both curled up in the far corner of the hideout, pressed together for warmth. The ground beneath you is rough. The blanket Evgeny begrudgingly threw at you both barely covers two bodies. She keeps shifting closer.

Her back’s against your chest now, and her breath is slow, heavy. Not quite asleep. Not quite ready to speak. But you feel it in her body: the tension draining. The fear slowly, slowly letting go.

She turns a little, her face brushing your collarbone.

“Y’know…” she whispers, voice low and raw from the day’s dust, “You really should’ve left with Claire.”

You don’t answer. Just tighten your arm a bit more around her waist. She sighs. Soft. Almost a laugh. “You’re such a dumbass.” Her fingers find your hand beneath the blanket, interlacing. “But… I think I needed a dumbass like you.”

She shifts again—closer, impossibly close now—until your foreheads touch. Her eyes glimmer in the dark, catching a shred of lantern-light. And then, in a voice smaller than you've ever heard her use: “I think I’m falling for you.”