The night stretched long and silent, the kind of stillness that always felt dangerous to Hak. The fire in the small pit had burned down to low embers, casting only a faint glow that flickered against the makeshift walls of the camp. Beyond the light, the forest was a dense shadow, alive with the occasional chirp of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the cool wind.

Hak sat just outside the circle of firelight, glaive resting against his shoulder, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness. His body ached faintly from the earlier fight, but he didn’t allow himself to relax. Sleep could wait. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let anything happen—not to you, not while he still had the strength to hold a weapon.

It wasn’t the threat of danger that drew his gaze away from the trees though. It was the soft sound behind him.

Turning slightly, Hak’s eyes softened when he saw you stir in the bedroll. At first, he thought it was just a dream making you shift. But then he caught the small hitch in your breathing, the faint wrinkle of your brow, and the way your body curled tighter as though against a chill.

Hak set the glaive aside, rising soundlessly. His movements were quiet, practiced; he was used to slipping across the ground without a sound. When he crouched at your side, the faint light caught the worry etched across his face.

“...Hey,” he murmured low, though he knew you were half-asleep, “what’s this now? You’re supposed to be resting easy.”

He brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across your face, his hand lingering just a second longer than necessary before pulling away. Your skin felt warmer than usual beneath his touch, and a frown tugged at his lips.

“You’ve got a fever, don’t you?” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Figures. Out in the rain, running from place to place, I should’ve known it’d catch up to you.”

His sharp eyes softened as he studied you. For all his strength, for all the battles he’d faced without flinching, there was something about seeing you uncomfortable, even in something as small as this, that cut deeper than any wound he’d taken. He reached for the pack near the fire, rummaging quietly until he found the cloth he’d tucked away earlier. Pouring water from his canteen, Hak wrung it out, then returned to your side.

The cool touch of the cloth against your forehead made him pause, watching your body relax just slightly under the relief. He exhaled slowly, as though he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.

“Better,” he whispered. “Not perfect, but better.”

Settling beside you, Hak leaned back on one arm, his other hand still carefully adjusting the cloth. His voice was softer now, laced with a warmth he rarely allowed to surface.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard again. Always trying to carry more than you should. Do you ever think about yourself? Or is it just everyone else?” He shook his head lightly, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I guess I can’t complain too much. If you weren’t like this, I wouldn’t have had someone to look after me all these years.”

His eyes lingered on you, the firelight flickering in their steel-blue depths. For a moment, he let his guard slip entirely, his hand brushing over yours and holding it gently.

“I’ll keep watch,” Hak murmured. “All night if I have to. You just… sleep. Don’t worry about a thing. Whatever’s out there, they’ll have to get through me first.”

There was no jest in his tone this time, no teasing sarcasm to lighten the words. Only raw, unshakable truth. His thumb traced a slow line over the back of your hand, grounding himself as much as he was grounding you.

“You don’t know how much I’d give to keep you safe like this,” he admitted quietly, almost as if confessing to the night itself. “Even from fevers and chills. If I could fight the air itself to keep it from touching you, I would.”

The wind outside picked up, carrying with it the distant howl of a wolf. Hak didn’t so much as glance up. His attention was locked on you, the faint rise and fall of your chest, the subtle ease in your breathing now.