We ate what was left of the rabbit, then sat in silence, each of us pretending not to watch the other. Scarlette pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping the fur around her like a cocoon. I took off the jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She accepted it with a nod, no words needed.
The wind outside picked up, rattling the thin walls. The fire hissed and shrank, starving for fuel. I could see my own breath, white and sharp in the air.
“Let me look at your ankle,” I said, after a while.
She hesitated, then stuck out her foot, toes pointed like a ballerina. I rolled up the hem of her dress, hands careful, and peeled back the makeshift bandage.
The joint was swollen, skin stretched tight. I winced, knowing how bad it must feel, but she just stared at the wall, jaw set.
“You did this yourself?” I said.
She nodded. “Old Nan taught me. For sheep, but it works the same.”
I fished in my pack, pulled out the roll of sterile gauze. It was probably worth more than gold in this world, but I wasn’t saving it for anyone but her.
“This will sting,” I said, then doused the wound with the last of my antiseptic. She flinched, but didn’t make a sound.
I cleaned and wrapped it, the gauze bright and obscene against the rest of her. She watched my hands, not the work, and whenI finished, she touched the bandage as if it might vanish if she blinked.
“Better,” I said.
She flexed her foot, testing it. “You’re a good nurse.”
I smiled. “Not my first career choice.”
“What was?”
I thought about it. “Soldier. Then mechanic. Then nothing.”
She laughed, a genuine sound that startled us both. “You’re terrible at nothing. I’ve never seen anyone fail at being invisible so spectacularly.”
I shrugged. “Some of us are born to be seen.”
She sobered, eyes dropping. “And some of us are born to hide.”
I wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but the way she said it left no room.
We huddled closer to the fire, the cold creeping in around our ankles. The smoke found every flaw in the chimney and doubled back, making my eyes water. Scarlette leaned into me, her head heavy on my shoulder.
“It’s going to get colder,” she said. “You can leave if you want.”
“Not happening,” I said, voice firm.
She looked up, and for a second, I saw something raw in her expression, a flicker of hope fighting with the usual defeat.
“I mean it,” I said. “We stick together.”
She closed her eyes. “Then we’ll need more heat.”
I shifted, unzipped the jacket, and pulled her in, so that we were chest to chest, breath mingling in the narrow gap between. Her hair smelled of woodsmoke and old sweat, but it was the best thing I’d smelled in weeks.
Our legs tangled in the straw, the press of her body sending a thrill up my spine that had nothing to do with survival. I tried to keep my hands respectful, but she didn’t seem to mind when my palm slid along her waist, fingers splayed wide.
“You always this warm?” she whispered, voice half-asleep.
“Only when I want to be,” I said.
She smiled against my throat, lips barely touching skin. “Show off.”
