You had been so certain when you told him you didn’t need help.

It was just a routine hunt, nothing you hadn’t handled before. You knew the trails, knew the wind patterns, knew how to move through the underbrush without snapping so much as a twig.

You’d even given him that small, confident smile—half reassurance, half stubborn pride—and promised you would be back at camp before sunset.

You should have known better than to tempt fate.

It happened in a blink. One careless shift of weight on a moss-slick stone, the ground vanishing beneath your boots. The world tilted, sky and treetops spinning together before gravity claimed you.

You tumbled twelve feet down the rocky incline, branches clawing at your clothes, breath torn from your lungs as you landed hard at the bottom.

Pain flared sharp and immediate in your left ankle.

You tried to stand. The moment you put weight on it, your vision blurred at the edges. The joint throbbed, hot and swollen already, every step a grinding protest. It wasn’t broken—at least you didn’t think so—but it was sprained badly enough to make walking slow, clumsy, humiliatingly painful.

The sun dipped lower.

You limped, stubborn as ever, leaning on a fallen branch for support. Each step took twice as long as it should have. The forest darkened into deep blues and shadows, insects humming their evening chorus. By the time the last light slipped beyond the treeline, you were nowhere near camp.

And he had promised to trust you.

You heard him before you saw him.

The soft, purposeful crunch of boots against leaves. The steady rhythm of someone who knew exactly where they were going.

Then a warm glow flickered between the trees, cutting through the darkness—torchlight gilded in gold. Above, the moon hung full and watchful, silvering the forest canopy.

Halsin stepped into view, broad shoulders outlined in firelight and moonshine. His expression was calm, but there was no mistaking the edge of concern in his eyes as they swept over you—your dirt-streaked clothes, the awkward way you held your weight, the way your jaw tightened against pain.

He had found you not far from where you fell. Of course he had.

His gaze dropped briefly to your ankle, then lifted back to your face, one brow arching slightly.

“Need a hand?”

The words were gentle. Not mocking. Not triumphant.

Just there—steady as the earth itself—offered without judgment.