"But you're not sure."
"I'm never sure. That's why I keep watch."
She pulls the blanket tighter; her hands shaking. Not from cold. From everything else. From the truth about Tyler. From the fear she's trying so hard not to show.
"Come here," I say before I can think better of it.
She looks up. "What?"
"You're freezing. And shaking. And you need to conserve energy." I sit down on the couch, leaving room beside me. "Shared body heat. It's tactical."
"Tactical." She almost smiles. "That's what we're calling it?"
"Unless you have a better word."
She considers for a long moment. Then she moves over, sits beside me, careful to maintain distance even though that defeats the entire purpose.
"This doesn't work if you're three feet away," I point out.
"I'm not three feet away."
"You're close enough that I can feel the cold radiating off you."
"Maybe you're just warm."
"Maybe you're stubborn."
"Definitely stubborn." But she shifts closer.
I reach over, pull her against my side. She goes rigid for a second, then gradually relaxes, her head coming to rest on my shoulder. The blanket pools around both of us, and her trembling starts to ease.
"This is probably not standard Guardian protocol," she murmurs against my shoulder.
"There's no protocol for this."
"For what?"
"For any of this." I keep my voice low. "For going rogue. For staying. For—" I stop, but she finishes for me.
"For caring."
"Yeah. For caring."
We sit like that in the quiet, listening to the storm outside, the rain hammering the roof, the thunder rolling closer. The generator coughs and sputters but keeps running. The single overhead light flickers but holds.
"Frost?" Her voice is soft, almost hesitant.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For helping me. Even if it costs you everything."
I look down at her, at the blood-stained bandage on her temple, at the way she's trying so hard to hold herself together even though her brother sold her, and her entire life fell apart.
"You're worth it," I tell her, and mean it more than I've meant anything in five years.
She's quiet for a long time. Then: "I used to think family was everything. That blood meant something. That Tyler would always—" She stops. "I don't know what I think anymore."
"You think you survived. That's enough for now."
