Her shoulders softened. She left her hand near his this time. Back in the cabin, Nia prepared herbs while Elias repaired a loose board near the floor. She worked with focus, crushing dried leaves with the back of a spoon. The action steadied her, gave her purpose she hadn't felt in weeks.
Every so often she glanced at Elias, studying the lines of his face, the way he concentrated, the controlled way he breathed. Her pulse quickened without her understanding why. When her ribs achd, she stopped for a moment, pressing a hand against her side. Elias looked over instantly, his expression concerned. "You all right?
Just tired?" she admitted. He stood and approached her slowly. "Sit down. I'll finish." She allowed him to guide her to the chair. His hand didn't linger, but the warmth of his touch stayed with her.
She sat with the blanket around her shoulders, watching him kneel to gather the rest of the herbs. Something settled inside her at the site. Something quiet, steady, unfamiliar. She spoke without thinking. "You treat people gentle," Elias paused.
"Only way I know. Not every man is gentle," she said. "I know." His voice tightened at the edges. She recognized the shift. Pain tucked beneath a calm surface.
She didn't press further. As evening approached, the cabin filled with a soft orange glow from a stove. Naam moved around more easily now, setting plates on the table while Elias poured water into a kettle. Their movements crossed naturally without the awkwardness of earlier days. They brushed arms once, and Nia didn't pull back.
Neither did Elias. After supper, they sat near the fire. Na leaned forward, warming her hands, the repaired neckline of her dress falling slightly as she shifted. Elias noticed the way she adjusted it, then noticed how she glanced toward him afterward, not fearful, but checking. She spoke first today.
Felt steady. "You did good," he said. She looked into the fire, her voice low. "I don't feel hunted here. Not when you're close." Elias exhaled slowly.
The words weren't romantic, but they carried weight. Weight he understood too well. "You're safe," he said. "I'll make sure of it." She turned to him, her expression open in a way he hadn't seen before. "I believe you." The room felt different after that, warmer, quieter, filled with something unspoken but unmistakable.
When she laid down on the cot later, she paused before pulling the blanket over herself. "Elias," she said softly. Yeah, I want tomorrow to be like today. He nodded once. We can make it that way.
She settled under the covers, her breathing slow and calm. Elias sat at the table for a long moment before extinguishing the lantern, feeling the shift between them settle in the air like a promise neither had said aloud. Tomorrow would be different, better, closer. The sun rose slower than usual the next morning, climbing through a thin bank of clouds that left the light pale and cold across the yard. Elias stepped outside with his coat halfbuttoned, listening for anything unusual before committing to the day.
The dog was already sniffing near the fence, tail moving in a slow rhythm that signaled calm. Elias let his breath settle. Nothing stirred beyond the tree lane. No tracks, no signs of approach. Inside the cabin, Nia stood near the stove, warming her hands, her hair loose down her back and her blanket pulled around her shoulders.
The repair dress rested more securely today. The stitches Elias added held through the night, though the neckline still dipped low enough that she kept the blanket close. She looked stronger, her posture more open, the stiffness in her movements eased. When Elias came back in, she glanced toward him with a look that carried recognition, not fear. "Everything quiet?" she asked.
"Quiet?" he confirmed. "Nothing out there." A soft exhale left her, the kind that loosened her face and dropped her shoulders an inch. She didn't hide it this time. After breakfast, Elias pulled a small crate from under the bed. Old tools, and used nails, leather scraps, odds and ends he hadn't organized in months.
He meant to sort it alone, but when he placed it on the floor, Nia was already kneeling beside him. "I help," she said. "He didn't argue." He passed her a handful of pieces to separate. She worked with careful, deliberate motions, the blanket slipping down enough to expose the upper edge of her chest. She adjusted it calmly, not rushed, as if she finally understood she didn't need to fear his eyes.
Elias noticed the shift, not in her dress, but in the way she carried herself. "You're moving better," he said without looking directly at her. "My ribs hurt less," she replied, breathing easier now. He nodded and continued sorting. The dog approached and rested its head against Nia's knee.
She smiled faintly, her first clear smile since she arrived, and brushed her fingers gently behind its ear. Elias caught the expression from the corner of his eye. It was small, brief, but it settled something steady in his chest. Later in the morning, Elias took her outside to show her how to check the barn latch. The wind carried a cold bite, but not enough to keep them inside.
Nia wrapped the blanket tight around her waist and stepped onto the porch with him. The yard felt wider today, not because it had changed, but because she walked across it with less hesitation. She looked around as she moved, but not with the sharp alertness of someone running. More like someone relearning a world she hadn't been allowed to stand still in. Elias explained how the latch worked, how to test the hinges, how to spot rust.
She listened closely, repeating the steps with her own hands. When she leaned forward, the blanket shifted, revealing the repaired neckline of her dress, still low, still showing a curved line of skin. She adjusted it with her fingertips, but she didn't turn away from Elias. "She didn't hide." "You learning fast," he said. "She glanced at him.