Troye reined his horse in sharply, the dark street stretching quiet beneath lamps that flickered like dying stars. He had expected the usual emptiness at this hour—curfew kept most behind locked doors—but a lone figure walked steadily along the narrow road. Familiar posture, familiar gait. His breath caught before he could stop it.

You.

The nurse from the government medical center, one of the few whose presence never put him on edge. Years of pale corridors and stitched wounds had carved a strange, cautious trust between you.

He guided his horse toward you, hooves striking crisp echoes. “You should not be walking home alone,” he called down, voice rough from cold and command. “The streets are not safe at this hour.”

Troye didn’t wait for a protest; he dismounted in one smooth motion, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. Standing beside you now, he felt the odd tug of relief pulling at the tightness in his chest.

“I will accompany you,” he said simply. “It’s too far to walk unprotected.”

He didn’t offer his arm—too forward—but he adjusted his pace to match yours as you started down the silent road. The wind bit at his coat, but for once, he barely noticed. Keeping you in sight was oddly settling, a quiet assurance after a long night steeped in suspicion.

In the hush of your shared footsteps, Troye allowed himself one small, steadying breath.