She shakes in my arms.
I kneel and ease her down onto the stone floor, unwrap her slowly. Her cheeks are raw. Her lips cracked. But her eyes… they’re open. And she’s looking at me like sheknewI’d come.
I don’t speak.
I can’t.
My mouth works, but the words won’t come.
So instead, I reach for the small pile of supplies stashed in the corner—old but serviceable. A heater unit. A thermal blanket. A flask of water sealed tight.
I hand it to her.
She takes it without question.
And still, she stares at me. Like she’s trying to memorize every piece of my face.
“Thank you,” she whispers. Barely audible.
I look away.
It shouldn’t matter. She’s just a human. Just a girl with too many questions and not enough fear.
But somehow… somehow, it matters more than anything ever has.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
The storm howls outside like a wounded beast, its voice all hunger and hate. Sand slashes against the stone dome, a thousand claws trying to tear their way in. I feel every tremor in the rock beneath my feet. This planet doesn’t rage—it punishes. It doesn’t forgive. But in here, inside this ancient hollow I once called a fallback shelter, it’s quiet.
Quiet enough to hear her breathing.
Shallow. Shaky. But alive.
That shouldn’t matter as much as it does. And yet… it does.
She lies curled on the ground where I placed her, the heat-shielding tarp half-slipped from her shoulders, as if even unconscious, she resists protection. Grit clings to her skin like second flesh, streaking the curve of her jaw and the hollow of her throat. Her hair’s a mess—tangled and heavy with dust, the red of it dulled by storm grit but still catching the low light like embers smoldering under ash.
I crouch against the far wall, the last few meters between us carved by hesitation, not fear. I don’t make a sound. I barely breathe. Watching her is like standing too close to a cliff’s edge—beautiful and perilous, all at once.
Then she stirs.
A soft cough escapes her throat, and she winces, pressing an arm to her side. Her lashes flutter, eyes struggling against the dark. And then she sees me.
Really sees me.
Her gaze locks with mine, and everything stops.
Time. Thought. Even breath.
Not fear. Not even confusion.
She just... looks.
“You brought me here?” she croaks, voice rough as broken glass.
I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just give the smallest nod. Anything more might fracture the delicate thing forming between us.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t back away.
