The fire burned low, casting long shadows against the stone walls. Tristan sat sharpening his blade, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone the only sound in the room. "You should rest," you murmured from the doorway. He glanced up, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "I sleep with one eye open." You stepped forward, crossing your arms. "And yet, somehow, you let your guard down around me." He paused, as if only now realizing it. Slowly, he set his sword aside, watching you carefully. "That’s because I know you’d never strike me down." You knelt beside him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. "No," you whispered. "I never would." For once, he let himself lean into your touch.