Elena

I wake slowly, the light of dawn filtering softly through the trees, casting a warm, gentle glow across our camp. I blink a few times, still groggy, the weight of sleep hanging onto me like fog. And then I notice it—the solid warmth at my back, the steady rise and fall of breath beside me. For a moment, I think I’m still dreaming, but then I remember.

Rafe.

He’s still there, lying beside me, his arm resting lightly across my waist. I feel a blush rise to my cheeks as I realize how close we are—closer than usual. And then something even more surprising catches my attention: my foot is sandwiched between his.

I blink, piecing together the memory of last night. I’d shifted closer to him when the chill had become too much, barely touching his ankle with my toes. But Rafe hadn’t just left it at that. Without a word, he’d moved, pulling my foot between both of his, warming it with that quiet, unthinking gentleness that always seems to catch me off guard.

I lie still, watching the dawn light filter through the trees, afraid to move and shatter this quiet moment. My heart thuds a little faster, and I can’t tell if it’s the warmth or the surprising intimacy of the gesture that has me feeling this way. The realization hits me harder than it should—how easy it is for us to settle into these shared moments, like we’re slipping into a rhythm I didn’t know we had.

“Morning,” comes Rafe’s low, gravelly voice, startling me from my thoughts.

I turn to find him already awake, his eyes half-lidded but alert, watching the horizon with that calm, ever-present focus. There’s something softer in his gaze this morning, like he hasn’t quite put all his walls up yet.

Instead of the usual, sensible “Good morning,” I surprise myself by blurting out, “Are you married?”

The question escapes before I can think twice, and I feel a rush of embarrassment. But it’s true—I don’t want to be sharing these quiet intimacies with someone who belongs to someone else. I don’t play games like that.

A flicker of surprise crosses his face, quickly replaced by his usual calm. “No,” he says, his voice steady. “No attachments.” He pauses, and I don’t miss the slight tightening of his hand on my hip. “Why do you ask?”

I let out a small, relieved laugh, unable to help the grin spreading across my face. “Just making sure I’m not borrowing warmth from someone else’s man,” I say lightly, my gaze flicking to our feet still tangled together. It’s strange to think of Rafe as… thoughtful. But here he is, once again proving that my assumptions about him are almost always wrong.

“Well,” I murmur, unable to resist a small smile, “thank you for keeping me warm again. I think my toes owe you their lives.”

Rafe’s lips twitch in that almost-smile, his eyes glinting with the barest hint of humor. “Glad to be of service.”

I chuckle, glancing down at our feet, his still pressed gently against mine. Somehow, that simple warmth makes everything feel a little more grounded—like the world isn’t quite so cold and uncertain as it was yesterday.

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As evening sets in, the chill seeps through the camp as the night wears on, a biting cold that even the fire can’t seem to shake. We’re already settled under the blankets, Rafe’s familiar warmth pressed against my back, his arm draped over my waist in a way that feels strangely… right. It’s been like this every night, and yet, tonight, I can’t settle. I can’t shake the frustration knotting in my chest, the leftover tension from the day winding through me like a storm I can’t calm.

I let out a heavy sigh, shifting slightly, and before I can think it through, I turn to face him. His arm stays in place, his hand resting lightly at my waist, a steadying presence even as I look up at him. He’s watching me, his expression unreadable, his gaze both patient and probing.

“Elena,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, the sound of my name carrying a weight that makes my heart stutter. “What’s going on?”

I hesitate, biting my lip as I search for words. “It’s nothing,” I mutter, though the frustration in my tone betrays me. “Just…” I trail off, swallowing down the sharp edge of my emotions.

He doesn’t push, doesn’t try to fill the silence, just watches me with that quiet patience that somehow makes it harder to hide. The lightest brush of his fingers on my waist makes me think he’s offering me space to speak without actually saying it.

I sigh again, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “The seer wasted an hour of our time today. An hour. Just to make tea.” I can hear the bitterness in my voice, sharper than I meant it to be. “And now we’re retracing our steps, practically backtracking. This whole day feels like… like we got nowhere.”

Rafe stays quiet, his gaze never wavering. I half expect him to offer some pragmatic response, a reminder that these things take time. Instead, he watches me with a kind of understanding that makes me feel seen in a way I wasn’t expecting.

“You’re frustrated because you care,” he says, his voice steady and soft. “You want to make a difference.”

His words take me off guard. I was expecting practicality, not… insight. And something in me loosens, the tension easing as I realize he understands more than I’d given him credit for.

“Yeah,” I murmur, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “I do.”

Rafe’s hand stays steady at my waist, his thumb tracing the faintest of patterns against my hip. It’s such a small gesture, but it feels grounding, like he’s anchoring me through the storm of my own thoughts.

“You can’t control everything,” he says, his voice calm and measured. “Not the tea, not the backtracking. Sometimes, the path is just… what it is.”

I know he’s right, but the stubborn part of me wants to argue. “But we’re wasting time,” I say, a little defiant.

His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “That’s the nature of a quest. You won’t know the path until you’re walking it.”

I stare at him, caught between annoyance and reluctant amusement. His calm, steady demeanor has a way of diffusing the tension I’ve been clinging to, leaving me feeling strangely lighter.

I let out a sigh, my frustration fading into something softer. “You always make things sound so simple,” I murmur, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Maybe it is simple,” he replies, his gaze unwavering as he holds my gaze.

For a moment, we’re just lying there, facing each other, the world outside our small camp fading into the background. His warmth seeps into me, steady and grounding, and I realize that maybe—just maybe—he’s right. Maybe not every step needs to be controlled, every moment measured.

“Thank you,” I whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Rafe gives the faintest nod, his hand tightening slightly at my waist in that quiet, reassuring way. “Get some rest, Elena,” he says, his voice a little rougher, a little more familiar. “We’ve got a long day ahead.”

For the first time in hours, I feel a sense of calm settling over me. I let his steady presence ease me, let the warmth between us fill the silence. And as I close my eyes, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I can let go and trust the path—trust him—for a while.