Camp is loud tonight.

Not rowdy—just alive in that restless way it gets when no one quite trusts the quiet. Fire pops. Someone laughs too loudly. Someone else sharpens a blade that doesn’t need it. I’m halfway through tying off a strap when the smell of stew shifts and—

She turns away from the fire.

Quick. Sharp. Like it caught her wrong.

I blink. Once. Twice.

That’s… odd.

I watch a little closer than I mean to. She steadies herself, breathes through it, then goes right back to what she was doing like nothing happened. Like it didn’t matter.

My stomach drops anyway.

I tell myself it’s nothing. The road’s been hard. We’ve all had rough days. I bend to grab a cup and fumble it straight out of my hands. It hits the ground with a clatter loud enough to turn heads.

“Blast it—sorry—”

I straighten too fast and nearly knock into Balin. Gods, I’m doing everything wrong tonight.

I look at her again.

And this time I see it.

Not obvious. Not something anyone else would clock. Just the faintest difference when she shifts her weight, when the firelight brushes her just so. A curve that wasn’t there before. A softness that makes my brain stall out completely.

My thoughts skid.

No no no no—

“Oh by Mahal,” I whisper.

My hands start shaking. I shove them into my pockets like that’ll help. My heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest, and suddenly I can’t remember how to breathe without thinking about it.

This is bad. This is very bad.

I glance sideways at Fíli, who’s sitting a little too calmly for my liking.

“Hey,” I say, trying—trying—to sound normal. “Uh. Question.”

He hums, not looking up.

“Does she look… different to you?”

That gets his attention.

He looks at me then. Really looks. His brows knit just slightly, eyes flicking—not to her, but back to me.

“How long have you been dropping things?” he asks quietly.

“I’m not dropping things,” I hiss. “I’m— okay, I am dropping things, but that’s not the point.”

My mind races ahead, tripping over itself.

Thorin will kill me. No, Thorin will bury me. No—he’ll look at me like that and then bury me.

I run a hand through my hair, pacing once, twice, then stopping because pacing makes me feel worse.

“She doesn’t know,” I murmur, half to myself. “I don’t think she knows.”

Fíli’s expression changes. Just a little.

“Kíli,” he says carefully, “you need to breathe.”

“I am breathing,” I lie, then suck in a lungful of air that tastes like smoke and panic. “I just— I didn’t mean for this to happen like this. Not here. Not on the road. Not with Thorin—”

I break off, groaning softly.

“Oh gods,” I mutter. “He’s really going to kick my arse.”

Across the fire, she laughs at something someone says, easy and unguarded, and my chest tightens all over again.

I love her.

And suddenly the future is right there, staring at me through firelight and consequence, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to hold it without breaking something precious.