The inside of the tent is larger than the whole room I left on Mars. That thought hits at once and hard. Layered rugs cover the ground. A central brazier throws steady warmth. Low tables stand to one side. Storage chests line the back. Thick furs, folded blankets, weapons, carved wood containers, travel gear, maps, and leather rolls fill the space in a way that feels lived in, not decorative.
There is no softness here in the human city sense. No polished luxury. But everything is solid. Real. Clean. Useful. The whole place smells like him and fire.
I stop just inside the entrance, suddenly unsure where to put my hands, my feet, my eyes. Kaiven sets my bag near a chest and turns back toward me. For the first time since the transport stopped, the watching eyes of the camp are blocked by tent walls.
The relief is immediate and embarrassing.
He sees it.
“You are safe here,” he says.
The words land low in my body. Not because I fully believe them yet. Because I want to.
Before I can answer, Oshara appears at the entrance with two other women behind her, one carrying a tray of food, the other folded clothing and wash cloths. They stop just inside. Not far. Not intimate.
Oshara’s gaze moves once through the tent, confirming everything in a single sweep. Then she looks at me again.
“This is his tent,” she says.
I nearly say I guessed, but something about her warns me not to be clever where I have not earned the right.
“Yes.”
She inclines her head toward the food.
“You eat first. Questions after.”
The tray is set on the nearest table. Warm meat. Flatbread. Cooked roots. A bowl of something thick and steaming. More food than I can process all at once. The women set down the clothing too. Soft underlayers. A thicker dress or sleeping shift. Fresh wraps.
Not gifts. Necessities.
Still, my throat tightens unexpectedly at the sight.
Oshara notices that too. She seems to notice everything.
“You are a wife,” she says. “Not a guest. Learn the difference quickly.”
Then, after one long unreadable look at me, she turns and leaves with the others.
I let out a breath slowly once they are gone.
Kaiven has not moved much. He stands near the center of the tent, watching me with the same unsettling focus he has had all day. Yet here, inside his own space, that focus feels different. Less public. More personal. As if this is the first place where the marriage has reached past law and stepped into actual life.
I look from him to the food, then back.
“They don’t like me.”
It comes out before I can stop it.
His face does not change.
“They do not know you.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
The honesty almost makes me laugh from sheer exhaustion.
