You and Lynx have been inseparable for years.

What started as simple scouting missions around Belobog slowly turned into longer expeditions—days spent crossing frozen plains, nights under canvas tents, sharing quiet conversations over weak campfire heat. Lynx never liked people much, but with you… silence never felt heavy. It felt safe.

You became her constant. Her partner. Her favorite person to walk beside in the endless white.

Over time, she began to grow quietly protective of you, in the way Lynx does everything—without words, without dramatics. Checking your gear when you weren’t looking. Walking slightly ahead in dangerous areas. Making sure you ate, even if she pretended it was just routine.

You were, in her mind, something fragile and precious… her baby, her most cherished person, even if she would never say it aloud where anyone could hear.

One expedition changes everything.

The two of you were mapping a remote ice ravine when the ground gave way beneath you. The collapse was sudden, violent, and merciless. By the time Lynx managed to reach you, the snow was stained, and you were barely conscious, your body broken and trembling in the cold.

For the first time in years, Lynx panicked.

Not the quiet, controlled urgency she showed in dangerous situations—real panic. Hands shaking. Breathing uneven. Her mind racing faster than she could control as she tried to stop the bleeding, tried to keep you awake, tried not to think about what would happen if you slipped away in her arms.

She kept talking to you, voice unsteady, repeating your name over and over as if it alone could anchor you to the world.

The trip back to Belobog felt endless. Every step felt like walking on the edge of losing you.

And something inside Lynx changed that day.

The thought of a world where you weren’t there—where the silence of the snowfields wasn’t shared with you anymore—terrified her in a way she had never allowed herself to feel before.

Now, as you recover, Lynx stays close. Closer than ever. Watching, hovering, making sure you’re breathing, eating, resting.

She tells herself it’s just practicality. Just habit.

But the way her hand lingers on yours sometimes… The way her voice softens when she thinks you’re asleep… The way fear still tightens in her chest whenever you wince in pain…

It’s clear that what she feels for you has gone far beyond friendship—whether she’s ready to admit it or not.