You're safer tonight. She hesitated again, examining him with a level of scrutiny only someone recently haunted could possess. Then she stood, wrapping the blanket tight across her chest, and made her way to the cot. She didn't lie down immediately. She watched him for another silent moment, confirming he wasn't a threat.
Only when she was certain, did she lower herself carefully onto the mattress. Elias took the chair by the table, set his revolver within reach, and kept the lantern low. His eyes stayed open long after hers closed. He wasn't sure what he had invited into his home, but he knew he couldn't have turned her away. And that truth, simple and heavy, stayed with him as the cabin quieted.
Morning pushed into the cabin slowly, the kind of pale light that didn't warm much, but made the edges of objects clearer. Nia stirred before she fully woke. Her breath catching when the blanket slipped down her shoulder. She grabbed it quickly, pulling it higher across her chest, checking if Elias was watching. He wasn't.
He stood by the stove with his back turned, shifting a pan and adding wood with steady, controlled movements. Elias had been up for some time. The chair near the table was angled slightly as if he had doze sitting upright rather than lying down, though his eyes now looked sharp and alert. He kept glancing toward the window, checking for anything unusual in the yard. His mind was still turning over the same questions from last night.
Whether someone had followed her, whether danger might be approaching, and what he would do if it did. Each possibility tightened something in his chest, but he hid it well. Nia sat up slowly, wincing as her ribs protested. Her hair fell forward, covering part of her face until she brushed it aside. The torn dress hung awkwardly from one shoulder.
The neckline still damaged enough that she needed to tuck the blanket tight along the exposed curve of her chest. She checked Elias again, relieved that he still wasn't staring at her body or waiting for her to make a mistake. He finally spoke without turning. Food's ready. His voice carried no judgment, no pressure, just a simple statement meant to shorten the distance between them.
She rose carefully, testing her first few steps. Her legs were stiff from exhaustion and cold, and she hid the tremble by gripping the cot frame until the feeling passed. When she walked toward the table, Elias stepped aside to give her more room. She noticed that. She noticed everything he didn't do as much as everything he did.
She took the plate. He sat down and murmured, "Thank you." Her voice sounded steadier than last night, but still worn around the edges. Elias sat across from her. He didn't eat until she took her first bite, and she watched him from under lowered lashes. Trust didn't come easily to her, but she traced every piece of his behavior carefully.
He didn't stare at her torn clothing. He didn't ask questions she wasn't ready to answer. He didn't stand too close. She exhaled through her nose almost imperceptibly, and a thin thread of tension loosened from her shoulders. After breakfast, she rose to help clean up.
When she reached for the water bucket, the blanket slipped again, exposing the neckline of her dress just enough for her to tense immediately. She pulled it tighter with a jerk, cheeks warming in embarrassment. The motion strained her ribs, and she stopped short, biting back a small sound. Elias stepped toward her and took the bucket from her hands before she could lift it. "You're hurt," he said quietly.
"Rest." The firmness in his voice didn't carry authority, only concern. But concern was unfamiliar territory for her, and she straightened as if she needed to prove something. "I can work," she said. He watched her closely. She wasn't lying.
It wasn't pride either. It was habit, the habit of someone who survived by being useful, by refusing to be a burden. He understood, too, well, how survival reshaped a person. He didn't push her away. He simply redirected her.
Here, he said, guiding her toward the chair near the stove. Sit. Sort these. He placed a worn pile of kindling and frayed cloth beside her. Simple work she could manage without straining her injuries.
She hesitated, then sat slowly. Accepting help cost her something, and Elias recognized the stiffness in her posture as she fought old instincts. While she worked, Elias went outside to check the yard. The morning air bit through his coat as he scanned the tree line, the empty pasture the prince left in the dirt. The dog trailed behind him, occasionally glancing toward the woods as if expecting someone or something to appear.
Elias crouched down and inspected the tracks more closely. Nothing fresh, nothing to suggest immediate danger. But the worry lingered because fear wasn't always visible in the ground. Inside, Nia paused her sorting when she heard his boots returning to the porch. She watched the door until it opened.
Relief flickering across her face. It wasn't relief that he came back. It was relief that he came back calmly. No rush in his movements. No warning in his posture.
A peaceful return was a good sign. He brushed off the cold and hung his coat near the door. She caught the faint tremor in his fingers before he studied them. She wasn't the only one holding tension. "You check outside?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, men." Her voice tightened around the word. "No," he met her eyes. "Not today." The answer eased her breathing. She nodded once and returned to sorting the cloth, though her hands moved a little more smoothly now. Later, when he repaired a loose hinge on the door, she stood behind him with a blanket gathered tight across her chest.
She observed the way he handled tools, the way his shoulders stayed relaxed, the way he didn't look back at her, even when he knew she was there. She wasn't used to men who gave her space without expecting something for it. "You live here long time?" she asked. "Long enough?" he replied without turning. She studied him as he worked.