“You pushed too hard,” he muttered, helping her out of her outer layers.
“I had to. We needed to?—”
“We needed nothing that required you to hurt yourself.” He wrapped her in a thermal blanket, rubbing her arms to restore circulation. “You are no good to either of us if you freeze.”
“I’m not going to freeze.”
“Because I will not allow it.”
She wanted to argue, but the warmth was seeping into her muscles, turning them soft and compliant. When he lifted her and carried her to the bunk, she didn’t protest.
“Rest,” he said, tucking the blanket around her. “I will prepare food.”
“You don’t know how to?—”
“I have watched you. I learn quickly.” A ghost of a smile touched his hard features. “Rest, Jaz. You have earned it.”
She meant to stay awake and keep planning. Instead, her eyes closed without her permission, and she drifted into an exhausted half-sleep while the sounds of Adjar moving around the habitat washed over her like a lullaby.
She woke to the smell of something that might have been vegetable soup. He was sitting beside the bunk, watching her with those impossible eyes, a steaming container in his hands.
“You cooked.”
“I heated.” He offered her the container. “Cooking implies skill. This required only the ability to follow instructions.”
The soup was bland and slightly too hot, and she couldn’t remember anything ever tasting better. She ate in silence, acutely aware of his gaze on her and the way his wings shifted with each of her movements as if tracking her progress.
“What are you thinking?” she asked finally.
“Many things.” He took the empty container from her hands, setting it aside. “I am thinking that you are stronger than you appear. That you work harder than anyone should work alone. That you have built a life in a place designed to kill you, and you have done it without complaint or company.”
“Is that a criticism?”
“It is an observation.” He stretched out beside her on the bunk, his body radiating warmth like a furnace. “I am also thinking that I do not wish to be the reason you lose what you have built.”
She turned to face him, the blanket sliding off her shoulder. “I already told you?—”
“I know what you told me. But words and feelings are not always the same thing.” His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You have lived here for years. This place is part of you, whether you admit it or not. Leaving it behind is not a small thing.”
“Leaving you behind would be worse,” she said honestly.
“We should sleep,” she said finally. “Early start tomorrow. It’s a long way to the ranger station.”
“Yes.”
Neither of them moved.
The habitat’s environmental systems hummed in the background, a constant mechanical heartbeat. Outside, the wind had picked up slightly, a gentle whisper against the walls that seemed almost musical after the storm’s violence.
She realized she was staring at his mouth.
It’s a nice mouth,she thought absently. Severe, like the rest of him, but the lips were surprisingly full. This close, she could see the faint texture of scales along his jaw, the way they caught the low light like tiny mirrors.
“Jaz.”
Her name in his voice did something warm and liquid to her insides that spread from her chest to her extremities.
“I’m terrified,” she heard herself say. “Not for me. For you.”
