I ignored that and went to stack the firewood. The ax leaned against the fireplace; I grabbed it, but before I could head out, she stood and crossed the room.
“You’re not going out there,” she said.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “We need more firewood.”
“You’ll freeze before you reach the trees.”
I scoffed. “You always this dramatic?”
“Only when people think they’re indestructible.”
That made me pause. She crossed her arms over her chest and arched a brow at me.
“Fine,” I conceded, setting down the ax. “You win.”
“Didn’t know we were competing.”
I smirked. “We always are.”
Her smile tugged at the corner of her mouth — small, victorious.
Instead of going out to chop more wood, I started fixing the leg on the table. It had been wobbling since we got there. A few screws, a steady grip, something simple that would keep my hands busy.
Gianina crouched beside me before I was finished. “You know, you don’t have to fix everything.”
“I don’t like things falling apart.”
“Even when they already have?”
I glanced at her. Her hair brushed her cheek; her voice was soft but sharper than it sounded.
“Especially then,” I replied.
She studied me for a moment, eyes searching my face. “Do you ever relax?”
I tightened the last screw, tested the leg, then stood. “Relaxing gets you soft.”
“Maybe soft isn’t so bad,” she stated softly.
I looked down at her, then away. “Soft gets you dead.”
The silence that followed was heavy; the kind that filled the space between words neither of us was ready to say.
She stood, brushing the dust off her hands. “You always talk like you’re waiting for a bullet.”
“Because I am.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “That’s no way to live.”
“Well, it’s the only way I know.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to keep proving you’re made of stone, you know.”
“And you don’t have to pretend you’re not afraid,” I shot back.
She smiled — not mockingly, not even defensive; just tired. “Guess we’re both bad at pretending, then.”
The floor creaked under her step as she passed me, heading to her room. I watched her go, every instinct screaming to stay detached, stay professional, even though I wanted to wrap her in my arms and tell her everything was going to be okay.
