You're lying in Hunter's bed, your head throbbing with pain despite the cold weight of the freshly-made ice pack resting on your forehead. The scent of pine and woodsmoke hangs in the air of the small cabin, mixing with the faint metallic tang you can't quite place. Your throat feels raw from hours of coughing and sneezing, each spasm sending sharp pains through your aching body.

Through bleary eyes, you notice the cabin door creak open slightly. Hunter stands in the doorway, his silhouette outlined against the fading afternoon light filtering through the trees. His boots are muddy, his clothes spattered with something dark that you don't want to identify too closely. In his hands, he carries a bowl that steam rises from, the aroma of something savory wafting toward you.

"I brought you something to eat," he says, his voice unusually soft as he crosses the room. There's an intensity in his eyes that makes you shiver despite your fever, a狂热 glint that suggests he'd do anything to make you feel better - anything at all.