Elena

The morning air was crisp, a soft chill clinging to the edges of the camp as the first hint of dawn crept over the horizon. I crouched by the fire pit, rubbing my hands together as I coaxed the embers back to life. Rafe, of course, was already awake. He stood by his horse, checking the tack with that same steady focus he seemed to bring to everything.

I stifled a yawn, stretching the stiffness from my neck as I glanced his way. “You’re always up first, aren’t you?”

Without looking up, he answered, “Early riser.”

I let out a small huff of amusement. “Of course you are.” I watched him work, noting the calm precision in every movement, like each action was perfectly measured. Even something as simple as packing a saddle felt deliberate with him.

Eventually, he caught me staring. His hands stilled, and he turned, one brow raised. “Enjoying the view?”

Heat crept up my neck. “What? No, I was just… making sure you’re human. You work like a damn automaton.”

There was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost a smile. “Half,” he said, his tone perfectly deadpan.

I blinked, caught off guard, and then it clicked. “Wait—was that a joke?”

He shrugged as he finished with the saddle. “If you have to ask, maybe not.”

I stared at him, torn between amusement and exasperation. “Right. Next time, make the punchline a little clearer.”

He didn’t respond, but I could’ve sworn there was a ghost of a smile before he turned back to his work.

As we set off down the road, the sun began its slow climb over the horizon, bathing the landscape in a warm glow. Rafe was, as usual, silent, his gaze fixed ahead. Normally, the rhythmic sound of hooves on dirt and the whisper of wind through the trees would make me want to sing. It was a habit I’d picked up while traveling alone, filling the quiet with songs that kept me company.

But with Rafe riding beside me, stoic as ever, I held back. Every time I glanced at him, I found him watching the road, completely unbothered. After a few minutes of the silence creeping into my bones, I nudged my horse forward, putting a little distance between us. Maybe if I rode just a bit ahead, I could indulge without disturbing him.

Yet, moments later, he’d closed the gap again.

Frowning, I eased my horse forward once more. And again, he matched my pace, riding silently at my side.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “You realize I’m trying to ride ahead, right?”

He didn’t even blink. “I noticed.”

“Then why do you keep following me?”

He met my gaze, calm and matter-of-fact. “We’re traveling together.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Yes, I’m aware. It’s just… I like to sing while I ride. Helps pass the time.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression still unreadable. “Sing?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of my thing,” I muttered, already regretting mentioning it. “I usually travel alone, so…”

To my surprise, he just shrugged. “You’re welcome to sing.”

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I blinked, caught off guard. “You don’t mind?”

He shook his head. “I don’t mind.”

Hesitating for a moment, I half-expected him to make a dry comment, but that was it. Just a simple “go ahead.” I’d thought he’d give me some kind of hard time about it, but he was serious.

“Well, alright then,” I muttered, still feeling a bit thrown off. But I knew I’d go crazy if I kept quiet all day.

So, after a moment’s pause, I started humming softly, letting the melody drift over the sound of hooves. It was a simple tune, one I always sang while traveling alone. At first, I kept it low, waiting for him to object.

But he didn’t.

Encouraged, I let my voice rise, filling the quiet with something familiar. As I sang, I glanced over at Rafe, half-expecting to see him grimacing or rolling his eyes. Instead, he just kept riding, his expression as calm as ever.

Huh. Well, I’d take that as a win.

For the first time since we’d set out, the silence between us didn’t feel quite so heavy.

Rafe

The day wore on, and by the time we found a spot to set up camp, my limbs were stiff from the ride. The clearing was quiet, a small shelter of trees with just enough space to light a fire. I dismounted, setting to work in the practiced silence I preferred. But with Elena nearby, even silence felt different—charged, somehow, with an energy I couldn’t name.

She moved around camp with an ease that suggested she’d done this a hundred times before. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, noticing the way she went about each task without hesitation, her hands moving confidently through each small ritual of setting up camp. She was capable, competent… and yet, she carried a kind of softness that made me wary. Like her presence might carve through the solitude I’d constructed for myself.

As I knelt to stack logs for the fire, I felt her eyes on me again. I struck a match, watching the flames catch, feeling the warmth lick against my hands. When the fire crackled to life, I straightened, brushing off my hands.

“That should hold,” I said, more to the flames than to her. My voice sounded rough, like I hadn’t used it all day.

She nodded, busying herself with the provisions, and I allowed myself a moment to watch her. She stirred the pot in thoughtful circles, her expression relaxed in the firelight. Her face seemed softer here, unguarded in a way that put me on edge. I wasn’t used to traveling with someone who wore her emotions so openly, someone who let her guard down so easily.

“You like singing,” I said, the words slipping out before I could second-guess them.

She looked up, surprised, her eyebrows lifting. “Yeah. I do.”

There was a warmth in her tone that caught me off guard, and I nodded, almost as a reflex. “You’re good at it.”

The compliment left my mouth before I’d even processed it. I hadn’t meant to reveal that, but it was true—her voice had filled the empty stretches of road with something I hadn’t known I’d missed. Something that felt dangerous. Too easy to get used to.

“Thanks,” she said softly, her gaze meeting mine.

I looked back at the fire, letting the shadows conceal whatever expression might’ve betrayed me. Traveling alone had its dangers, but this—her warmth, her voice—felt like its own kind of threat. It was… unsettling, this urge to soften around her.

We ate quietly, the fire crackling between us. Normally, I’d find the silence a comfort, but now it felt charged. I could feel her watching me from time to time, as if trying to map out the pieces of me I kept hidden. The firelight cast shifting shadows across her face, her features softened but her gaze steady.

After we finished, I made my way over to check on the horses, needing a moment to ground myself. I ran a hand along my mare’s mane, letting the simple ritual steady my mind. But even as I worked, I could hear her voice in my head, the melody of her song lingering. It felt… intrusive. Unsafe. Like a reminder that not all companionship had to be kept at arm’s length.

When I returned to the fire, she’d settled back against her pack, her posture relaxed but her eyes bright, studying me across the flames.

“You do this often?” I asked, the question rougher than I’d intended. “Sing while traveling?”

She nodded, leaning back. “Yeah. Helps pass the time. Usually, I’m on my own, so there’s no one to bother.”

I looked at the fire, avoiding her gaze. “You’re not bothering me.”

A small laugh escaped her, soft and genuine. “Noted. Still, I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

I tilted my head slightly, catching her gaze. “You’re not.” There was a pause before I added, almost reluctantly, “I’ve had worse company.”

The words seemed to surprise her, and a small smile spread across her face. For a moment, I could feel something shift between us, an ease that hadn’t been there before. It felt… wrong, in a way, to let myself relax around her. But at the same time, it felt like less of a burden.

As the fire crackled and the night wrapped around us, I allowed the silence to settle, trying to ignore the warmth that her presence brought. We weren’t friends—wouldn’t be, I reminded myself—but as I sat there across from her, the silence didn’t feel so bad.

And that, more than anything, was what made me uneasy.