“Do you always sound this calm when the world’s ending?” I muttered.
He didn’t answer, and for some reason, that made it worse.
I lay back down, pulling the covers tight, staring into the darkness where I knew he was. Too close. Too quiet. The air between us felt charged, alive, impossible to ignore.
And though I told myself to sleep, I didn’t.
I listened—to the wind, to the fire, to him.
And somewhere in the dark, I started wondering what, exactly, I’d invited into my solitude.
I tried to sleep.
Really, I did.
But the cold kept finding me. It crept in slowly, an ache that started in my toes and worked its way up until even the tip of my nose felt frozen. Every time the wind hit the walls, I flinched and pulled the blanket tighter, but it didn’t help.
The fire had gone from a glow to embers — still alive, but barely. Shadows climbed the ceiling like restless things.
I couldhearhis breathing across the room. Slow, steady, maddeningly calm.
“Silas,” I whispered again. “Are you awake?”
A rustle. “How could I not be, Colette? You won’t stop talking.”
“But it’s freezing.”
“Mm.” He sounded half-asleep. “The logs are nearly gone. We’ll need more by morning.”
I stared into the dark, teeth chattering. “That’s not helpfulnow.”
There was a long pause. Then: “Would you feel better if I leftmywarm place and checked the fire?”
“No,” I said too quickly. “I mean — yes, but I don’t think I want you to freeze either.”
He made an indistinct sound — something between a sigh and a laugh—and then I heard the couch creak. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, crossed the floor.
The faint orange light caught him in pieces: the broad line of his shoulders, the edge of his jaw, the soft tumble of hair that had escaped whatever careful shape it had earlier.
He crouched in front of the hearth, coaxing the embers withpatient hands, and for a second the entire cabin felt suspended — like we were the last two people left in the world.
“You should get closer,” he said without looking back.
“To what? The fire or you?”
His mouth twitched. “Whichever works.”
I hesitated, then slid out from under the covers, wrapping the blanket around me like armor. The floorboards bit at feet through my thick socks, and the cold hit harder now that I was standing.
I crossed the few steps to the fire and knelt beside him, the blanket pooling around us both. The warmth was immediate — uneven, fragile, butreal.
He added another log, then another. The flames rose, chasing the dark back a little.
“Better,” I murmured, stretching my hands toward the light with a small shiver.
When I glanced sideways, he was already looking at me. Not in a way that felt dangerous — justpresent.Like he was cataloging every piece of the moment so he could write it later and ruin me with it.
“What?” I asked.
