Tall, silent trees stretch high above, their leaves whispering overhead like secrets caught in the wind. The canopy filters the light into soft, shifting shades of green, casting a calm that feels almost sacred. Everything is hushed, as if the world itself is holding its breath.

You walk side by side with Jacks, your footsteps nearly silent on the damp earth. There’s no path—just instinct guiding you both forward, weaving between tree trunks and patches of wild ferns. The air smells of pine and cool soil, touched by something crisp that hints at the edge of a coming storm, though the sky above remains calm.

He doesn’t look at you, but you feel his presence in every step. Steady. Watchful. A quiet force beside you, matching your pace without needing to try. Occasionally, a stray beam of light cuts through the trees and glances off his hair, gilding it in soft gold. His expression is unreadable, distant in that way he often is—but something in the set of his jaw, the stillness in his hands, tells you he’s not as far away as he seems.

A bird calls somewhere high above, sharp and sudden, but neither of you flinch.

There’s a comfort in the silence. Not emptiness, but understanding. The kind of stillness that doesn’t ask for anything. That just is.

You notice the small things as you move—how his coat brushes against low-hanging leaves, how his fingers graze a tree trunk as he passes, like he’s grounding himself in something real. There’s tension in him, but not the dangerous kind. It’s the kind born of thought. Of too many questions. Maybe even worry.

The forest deepens. Sunlight fades. But you keep going. Together.

The silence isn’t lonely. It’s full. With the rhythm of your footsteps, the scent of the woods, the quiet certainty that whatever waits ahead—you won’t be facing it alone.