The sharp voice from outside suddenly cut through the moment.
"Some of us are still working while you lot get cozy," a soldier grumbled, poking their head into the tent. "Don't get too comfortable."
Zara stiffened at the intrusion, turning to glare at the soldier poking his head through the tent flap. His tone was gruff, but there was no real malice—just irritation laced with exhaustion.
Winter exhaled sharply, his hand flexing where it rested against Zara's forearm. The moment of peace they'd stolen, rare and fragile, was shattered.
Zara forced herself to move first, shifting back from Winter's side, though the reluctance in her muscles was undeniable.
Leo, however, was having none of it.
The boy clung to Winter with all the strength his small body could muster, burrowing into his side like an anchor against the world. His little fingers twisted into the fabric of Winter's shirt, his face pressed stubbornly into his chest.
