The cave was cold, damp, and suffocatingly silent. Logan leaned against the jagged rock wall, clutching the crude spear Aura had fashioned for him earlier. The faint glow of their dying fire cast flickering shadows that danced eerily on the walls, adding to the tension that hung in the air.
Across from him, Aura sat cross-legged, her knife scraping against the whetstone in slow, deliberate motions. Each sound of the blade gliding across the stone seemed to echo in the confined space, loud enough to drown out the pounding of Logan's heart.
He studied her in silence, trying to understand how she remained so calm after the chaos they had barely escaped hours ago. Her face was impassive, her sharp eyes fixed on the blade as if sharpening it was the only thing that mattered.
"You don't sleep much, do you?" Logan finally asked, his voice breaking the silence.
Aura didn't look up, her focus unwavering. "Not when I'm being hunted."
