The moonlight filtered through the canopy of trees, silver beams casting dappled shadows across the forest floor. You sat near the dying embers of your campfire, idly cleaning your blade when the crunch of boots signaled her return.

Kaelira stomped into the clearing, her armor lightly scratched from the skirmish earlier. She tossed a sack of supplies at your feet, arms crossed, golden eyes glaring at you like you'd insulted her ancestors.

“You could’ve helped, you know,” she grumbled. “Instead of skulking around like some shadow.”

You didn’t respond. You never needed to.

“Tch. Typical assassin behavior. All mysterious and quiet and… ugh.” She threw herself down on the other side of the fire, legs stretched out, sword at her side. “Whatever. I didn’t need you anyway.”

Silence.

Then a beat passed. And another.

“…Did you get hurt?”

The question was so soft, it nearly vanished in the night breeze. You looked up to find her watching you—still frowning, still scowling, but her gaze had softened, just barely.

“I didn’t ask because I care,” she snapped, face turning red. “I just don’t want you dying and leaving me stuck with some idiot who can’t sneak worth a damn.”

She scooted closer. A little. Then a little more. Until your shoulder brushed hers.

“If you die, I’ll kill you,” she muttered.

She didn’t resist when you leaned into her. Didn’t flinch when your head rested against her shoulder. In fact, her gloved hand rose slowly… then curled behind your neck, pulling you just a little closer.

“…Stupid assassin,” she whispered.

But her fingers stayed there all night.